


Chorus in Aurorae

by Salty_Caramel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Archery, Arranged Bonding, Big Bang!!! on Ice, Clans and Hunters, Cultural Differences, Explicit Sexual Content, Gifts, Hunter/Gatherer AU, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Neolithic AU, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Northern Lights, Pagan Imagery, Period-Typical Hunting of Animals, Spirits and Shamanism, Strangers to Lovers, Switching, courting, not abo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-19 15:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13707318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_Caramel/pseuds/Salty_Caramel
Summary: When Minako, the sightseer of the Elk clan, tells Yuuri of her vision, he doesn't know what to make of it. But he knows it must be important.Once she returns from her travels, he learns that another seer from another great clan has shared her vision, and that this can only mean one thing: their clans are to be united, and Yuuri is to be part of it.He is to bond with a hunter of the Bear clan.While frustrated that he is being thrust onto a path so very different from the life he had envisioned for himself, Yuuri is made to accept that this union is the will of the spirits. He will go through with it for the sake of the people he loves, even if it means giving up every last part of himself.To make matters worse, his mate-to-be is the most renowned hunter the winter lands have ever seen, and someone Yuuri has admired for a long time.However, from the moment they meet, Yuuri slowly realises that there is much more to Victor than he has imagined, and that perhaps the will of the spirits is more closely aligned with his own than he previously thought...Available in:Hungarian





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Magyar available: [Chorus in Aurorae](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990947) by [Suonjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suonjar/pseuds/Suonjar)



> Hello! It's Salty calling! ♡
> 
> So after months of staring at this document, "Chorus in Aurorae" is finally ready to post!  
> I had a lot of fun working on this, though it was very challenging as well. Thankfully, the challenges led me to meet so many new friends and fellow Yuri On Ice enthusiasts, I wouldn't change anything about the experience even if I could! x
> 
> The title, translated from Latin, should mean something along the lines of "Dance of the Northern Lights". 
> 
> The setting this time is in a very interesting part of the world in a very interesting time period, set about 4-5000 years ago. There are also some fantasy elements and I've definitely given myself a lot of creative licence even while trying to stick to some historical accuracies.
> 
> I wanted this fic to focus on certain topics, like language barriers and miscommunication, solving differences or making peace with them, and maybe finding ones place in this world. I hope I've managed to capture that sort of mood...
> 
> As for the non-traditional omegaverse tag, Yuuri is the only known character affected by these tropes (to the point where it is not even actively an omegaverse fic), the extent of which will be explained in the first chapter.
> 
> Art for this fic is presented by Morrindah and DistressedOrange!  
> Check the end notes for links x
> 
> I had a lot of help from my lovely editors, SqueezeBabe and Cody_Thomas! Without them, I'd never have been confident enough to keep working on this and feeling like someone out there is going to like it. A special big thank you to Squeeze for struggling with me while writing her own monster and still being there to edit out all my extra commas, lol...
> 
> Lastly, please be aware of the tags and understand that this fic is meant for a mature 18+ audience. No one is making you read this, and if you come across anything that you feel like you don't want to read, please be responsible and leave. This fic might not be for you.  
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it! ♡
> 
> Edit: A [translation in Hungarian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990947/chapters/32214855) by the amazing [Suonjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suonjar/pseuds/Suonjar) is now available!

-

_Part One_

-

“I saw a strange sight in my sleep. There was a bear, I thought. But when I looked closer I saw that its body was that of a great elk.”

This is what Minako tells Yuuri before she leaves to converse with another seer from an inland clan residing a few days travel from the summer settlement.

To Yuuri, the strange tale of her sight is confounding.

He has never seen a beast like this on his hunts, and he can’t understand the images of the spirits in the way that a sightseer does. Yet, he doesn’t dare ignore it.

He thinks on it while he sees her go, sack light, and trusty wooden staff in hand. Her voice is an echoing murmur in his head as he watches her traverse up the river and disappear into the mountain gap.

It stays in his head as he readies for the day's hunt. The vision swirls through his thoughts as he busies himself with checking his equipment and supplies, but not even the soothing task of arranging his arrows in their quiver is enough to calm his mind.

He still thinks on it when he begins his trek through the greenwoods, stalking the tracks of a lone forest deer he had spotted on its outskirts at dawn. The sun moves higher in the sky as he traverses slippery moss-grown trunks, moves across grassy clearings and colourful shrubbery—and yet the thoughts slip through his focus, and he thinks on it.

Even as he nocks his first arrow and draws the string, the young buck clear in his sight, the image of the beast flickers in the corner of his eye as he lets the arrow loose.

He curses as it misses, by a whole length at that, but when the animal startles and leaps into a sprint, he has already drawn that second arrow he rarely needs and he quickly puts it in the buck’s neck.

It stumbles and crashes to the ground with a loud whine that sounds shrill in his ears. The wailing continues weakly for another moment; then it dies, and the forest falls silent after.

His face is grim as he pulls the first arrow free from the tree trunk it has found.

He stares mournfully at the buck where it lies, a few lengths away.

 _I missed_.

Yuuri is a good hunter with the bow. Many have even said he is a great one. (Some have even said he is _“the greatest one in the lands”_ —but this is an exaggeration born of pride in their fellow clansman, he knows.)

But this time, he has missed. He could have maimed his prey, caused unnecessary pain, had he not swung his bow the moment he knew he wouldn’t make the shot. But even the second arrow had not struck as true as he had wished, and the buck’s dying cry still rings in his ears.

 _I was distracted_ , he reasons to himself, but one look at the deer that still twitches in the aftermath of death seems to render his justifications obsolete. He sighs, and thinks, _I shouldn’t let it bother me_.

But it does.

 _It should_. He should be thinking of it, and it should be bothering him, for Minako had told _him_.

She had come to _him_ and asked for _his company_ to the mountain pass, and she had narrated her vision with a deliberate clarity, made sure he had heard and listened to every word. She had wanted _Yuuri_ to hear it.

It was, of course, not the first time she had told him of her visions.

Ever since he was very young, he and his sister Mari, and the other children of the clan, had sat with eyes wide and mouths agape as the sightseer recounted her travels through the other realms, and of the strange creatures that she had met there. They were tales of goodness and wonder, of communing with the spirits that guided them through the good times and the hardships of life—but also of trial and misery, of her fights with the foul creatures that brought illness and starved the lands.

They were raw in their admiration whenever they watched her dance at ceremonies or perform the traditional rituals for the solstice with her many bone charms and her carved elk-head staff, impatiently trying to glimpse what it must be like to be so in tune with the spirits. They grew eager in their awe and curiosity, wishing to dance like she did, to sing like she did, to see what she did. She would never refuse a request for a story, unless their mother called for them to go to sleep. Even after years and years of them, she still always had another tale to tell.

But for Minako to tell _him_ , directly, is different to nosy children who long to see the white buck galloping across the sky, to cuddle with the normally skittish foxes in their dens, or to ride on the bear’s back as it walks in the spirit realms.

This is different. This is _important_. The sightseer, he is sure, knows what the vision could mean, and Yuuri is very likely connected to it, in some way or another.

He gnaws his lip as he ponders this conclusion, but he can’t for the life of him think of a reason for it. Eventually, he pushes the thoughts away in frustration and crouches down to the deer he has slain to pull the arrow out of his neck. After a moment of contemplation, he ties its legs; he had passed a stream nearby, and the deer is just small enough that he should be able to carry it back there to gut and clean before taking it home.  

With a deep breath and a heave, he has the deer on his back and begins the trek to the river, and back to the settlement.

-

The summer settlement is where Yuuri’s family spends the unending days of the summer months.

It is only in this time of mild weather and flourishing life that they dare stay in the winter lands. Once the night is reborn, long before the first snowfall, they migrate south with the fowl and do not return until the days are long once again.

They settle here, in this very bay, every year, and yet Yuuri cannot help but revel in the familiar splendour of it.

There is the gathering of stone huts and smoking fires, the scent of smoked herbs and meats, and the sound of children screeching and laughing as they play with the eager hounds. There are many boats, some large enough for an entire family, others smaller, just enough to fit a single voyager, all sporting a carved elk head at their bow for the protection of the spirits. They are all out there, dark specks on the glistening sea under the summer sun. The fish is abundant outside the inlet, and even from a great distance Yuuri can make out the fishers pulling in the catch of the day. Every now and again, there are even seals to trap in their nets. The river that mouths into the bay provides fresh water for the settlers, and the stream attracts animals to live in the great, green forests which lies protected beneath the overhead mountains.

It’s the ideal place to put a village of hunters—and it’s Yuuri’s home.

The familiar tranquillity helps ease his troubled mind a little as he walks into the settlement. He quickly gains further distractions as he is immediately greeted by a horde of children screaming out for his attention and keen to hear of his hunt.

“Yuuri! Yuuri! Look, he got a whole reindeer!” they scream in delight, flocking around his feet along with their young, eager pups. In the commotion, one small hound licks curiously at his slightly bloodied shoe, and his heart clenches in his chest as he watches.

 _Vicchan used to do that_ , he remembers, his throat suddenly gone tight for reasons that have nothing to with the heavy deer still slung over his back.

One child then asks, “Did you hit it through the eye again?”

“Not this time,” he replies with a cough masking the rawness in his voice. He turns to the side to show them the wound on the beast’s neck. “…it was my second try.”

They make an upheaval, insisting that he must be lying, and that he always puts the arrow straight through the heart—“No, it’s through the eye! Kills them faster!” one insists, to another’s protests.

Yuuri smiles and lets them bicker, excusing himself from the fray to take his prey home.

Free of the squabbling flock, he wanders to the hut near the outskirts of the settlement. It is where his family has lived ever since his parents were first made one. The hut itself is of a decent size, well made and spacious enough for keeping their crafts and a fire pit, but it has always been a bit cramped, so he understands why his sister wants to build her own.

(“I’ll do it, with or without my One,” she had told him not too long ago. “I don’t need a mate and a child to put in it to own a home of my own.” And he supposes she is right, but he is certain that if he attempted the same he would grow lonely very soon.)

Outside their hut stands Hiroko, his mother, deeply engrossed in her work. She is tanning hides strung to racks while she hums softly on a song she would often sing for them when he and Mari were yet young children.

When he puts the deer down, she senses his presence and turns.

“Yuuri! Welcome back!” she calls for him the moment she sees him, clapping her hands once she sees the results of his hunt. “And what a fine young deer! Spirits bless us—we will eat well tonight. You will part it for me too, won’t you?”

“Of course, mother,” he smiles softly and goes to put away his bow and quiver. He returns with his tools and a pot of water, and begins the tough work of pulling the skin off the meat.

His mother turns back to her hides, but now they sing and talk together as they work. She asks of his hunt, of how far he had gone and of what else he had seen out in the forest. He had been gone for some time.

She makes a subtle suggestion for him to bring a companion on his longer hikes; a cover for her own worry for his wellbeing, he knows. But Yuuri is sure she knows that he can’t find it in him to do that. He has hunted alone ever since he first learned to part an animal; and he had never been _truly_ alone… not until very recently.

Yuuri’s hound had been his loyal companion until his very last breath. A fever had taken him on their travels back to the summer lands last year—the consequences of a wound that Yuuri had not discovered until it had been far too late and a black rot had infested it.

He remembers his eyes had not been dry for days. He had insisted on carrying his friend all the way to the winter settlement where he could build him a proper pyre to send all of him off to the spirit realm.

An entire winter has passed since then, yet the very thought of Vicchan would wound itself tight around his heart.

Minako has told him time and again not to blame himself, and that Vicchan has surely found his place with his pack on the eternal plains.

“I saw him,” she once told him just before they made the march back north. “He is happy and healthy, but he misses you.”

He didn’t know how much of it was true, if it was something she had thought to say just to ease his guilt. Nevertheless, he had cried quietly against her shoulder long into the night while she whispered sweet stories about the wonderful life his dear companion lead in the other realm.

“I do hope Minako will be back soon,” his mother says then, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I know her little trips are important, but the children always grow restless when she is not around to keep their attentions.”

It is not strange for Hiroko to long for Minako’s return, he muses, for they had grown up together and been close friends for many years. While their lives had turned out very different, with Minako devoted to the will of the spirits and his mother dedicated to her mate and family, they were still dear to one another.

Although she should be equally loving and compassionate to all her clansmen, it is no secret really that Minako favours Hiroko’s family—and Yuuri, especially, who resembles his mother in most manners and ways.

He has been told by many that, at times, one could be forgiven for thinking that he is the child of Minako rather than his own father, for she dotes on him just as much as his own mother does, if not more. The thought greatly amuses him, but he doesn’t mind it; Minako is more or less a part of their family anyway, since her role forbids her from having one of her own—and he _does_ love her nearly the same as one does one's mother.

(Other people yet have said much more unsavoury things, some speculating him a replacement for his mother’s affections and what worse; but their whispers are petty and easily ignored in the face of his kind, loving family—in which Minako is included.)

He looks up at his mother’s worried face with a small smile.

“I’m sure we will make do. It’s not for long, and she has always come back to us,” he reasons, and she hums in agreement, her mind put at ease by his words.

They return their attentions to their work and hum melodies in place of conversation. For a while, Yuuri considers telling his mother of what Minako had told him before she left—but in the end, he refrains.

He should focus more on helping out with the work that needs doing and stop worrying his head about something he won’t understand no matter how much he thinks on it—not before Minako returns and explains it to him.

-

The next day passes much like the previous one. The spring has been kind and abundant to them, and without the need to hunt Yuuri busies himself helping out with the village’s various projects.

He sews waterskins with his father, and helps his sister smoke and dry meat; one day, he helps the fishers hang their catch to dry, as this will become their primary source of food on their travel south before the winter grows harsh; the day after, he joins up with his old friend Takeshi to mend the roof on his hut, and spends the rest of that day carving fish hooks out of bones with Yuuko, who is an even older and closer friend, and also Takeshi’s One. (They have three little girls, who often climb on Yuuri like spiders on tree trunks, only five summers old and already immensely eager to follow in his footsteps as hunters, to their mother’s glee.)

So the days pass, slow and steady and uneventful, until the tenth day comes and brings Minako with it.

And when she does return, far into the day, she is in such a hurry to arrange an assembly with the elders that Yuuri doesn’t catch a glimpse of her before Mari comes to tell him he is being called to the meeting himself.

It is kept in the great tent in the village centre. Yuuri enters with a deep bow of respect for the wisest of the clan, but his face is stiff with worry. He sees his parents sitting somewhere on his left, while Minako sits at the head of the tent, next to the oldest and wisest of the elders.

“Dear child,” Sayoko, the village matriarch says softly and bids him to take a seat in the circle. Her smile is kind and tender, but there is an undeniable anticipation in her voice as she speaks, as if she has imposing things to tell and can’t wait for him to hear them. “As you know, our Minako has been to converse with a powerful sightseer from one of the large inland clans. She returned today to tell us some most exciting news!”

The crowd murmurs excitedly, but this is not reassuring to Yuuri who finds he worries what will be said next, for if will undoubtedly concern him in some manner or form. He clenches his hands in his lap and breathes, slowly, bracing himself.

“Not too long ago, just before her journey, our Minako was shown a peculiar sight. When she spoke with the sightseer, she learned that they have both been shown the same vision by the spirits!”

Yuuri’s eyes widen as the words ring clear in his ears. This vision she speaks of—he is sure it is the very same one Minako had related to him on the day she left.

“I don’t understand,” he hears himself say, barely audible above the excited murmurs around him. He searches for Minako’s eyes, willing her to tell him what this all means, but the sightseer keeps her eyes firmly on the matriarch as she carries on.

“As you all know, our clansmen have always been connected with the Great Elk. From it, we learned to float and cross the waters, to scavenge the forest to find food and keep warm, even in the cold of the winter moons. It has given us its meat, its hide and its horns, but more importantly, its wisdom and value of community. And it has given us you, Yuuri.”

A chorus of agreement sounds around the tent; Yuuri bites his tongue and fights the urge to squirm under the attention suddenly directed to him.

“A great hunter who is more in tune with the animals and their spirits than any we have seen before!” another elder praises noisily and is met with more agreements.

While Yuuri feels his cheeks prickle with embarrassment at this, Sayoko nods along, pleased.

“Yes, a great hunter. Our Yuuri has felled many great beasts, and has felt sympathy towards them all—ever since the day you first took up the bow,” she directs her attention back to him then. “This pleases the spirits. You take only what we need, to feed and clothe your family. You’ve shown the instincts of a provider, and the caring nature of a mother.”

Yuuri shifts on his feet as they say all this, uncomfortable under the weight of their praise, but unable to protest it.

“The spirits blessed your birth,” the matriarch continues. “They gave you strength and they gave you mercy. They gave you your life, and they gave you the gift of creating and giving life. Now the time has come for this gift to bring the people of the summer and winter lands together!” She speaks this loudly, garnering more cries of approval from the clansmen.

“The clan our Minako visited have kinship with the bear.”

As soon as this is said, Yuuri knows deep in his bones where this is going. He stiffens where he sits, as if a sheet of ice has been laid over his skin.

“It has made them strong, far stronger than any other tribe of the inland,” the matriarch narrates grandly. “They weather the winters and thrive in these lands. It will be a privilege to share blood with these great hunters. Our clans will unify and grow even stronger, when the elk and the bear become one!”

There are more agreements and shouts of approval, but then Yuuri, feeling as if a scorching fire has suddenly thawed his frozen tongue and broken the ice off his skin, cuts sharply through the crowd.

“You’re making me take a mate.”

The voices die down and the tent is silent for a long moment as his accusation echoes in the quiet. So he tells them again.

“I won’t…You can’t choose my One for me. You can’t make me give myself to a _stranger!”_

The silence stretches on as his words hang in the air, but it is not long before someone clears their throat. It is another elder, the same one who had commended his hunting skills.

“We are not making you do anything, dear child. This is all beyond us. You have been _matched_ , not by the mortal human, but by the everlasting spirits! The ones who made you _as you are_ for this very reason!”

Another bout of nods and relieved murmurs follow: he hears them reason amongst themselves that “of course, it is _an honour_ ” that “the spirits have _chosen him_ , not through one, but _two_ seers”! He sees his parents whispering heatedly to each other, but he can’t make out the words through the chatter of the other elders. They all look at him with the same sort of stare, like they can make him see reason, if they just say it clearly enough, that he is overreacting and needs to understand like they do.

“It is the will of the spirits!” one of them peeps loudly. “You should be honoured that they have given you a good mate!”

And then, in a fit of madness, Yuuri does something he would never do otherwise, but a fire sparks in him, fuelled by their words, and for the first time in a _long_ time Yuuri feels _angry_.

He stands up, and screams, “Well they didn’t ask me if I wanted one, did they!”

Without another word or thought, he turns on his heels, leaving no time to listen to the uproar that follows, and storms out of the tent.

He hears voices call out for him, but he ignores them all, even his mother’s worried cry, and stalks determinedly to the hut to find his bow.

He takes his quiver and all his arrows—not to hunt, but to practice.

Not once does it occur to him to run away; it’s not in his nature, to leave his problems in fury, and it would be stupid to go off on his own and leave the protection of the settlement without a solid plan in mind. But he goes far enough, to the edge of the forest, to let everyone know at a glance that he doesn’t wish to speak with them.

Once there, he buckles his quiver to his waist for easy access to his arrows. He strings his bow and begins shooting. His first arrow hits a thin birch tree from many lengths away, burrowing deep into the bark. Every arrow after finds the trunk of a different tree; he tries for further and faster with each draw of the string. Further and faster, and even further and even faster…

When there are no arrows left in his quiver, he stalks up to the treeline and pulls them all out; with a deep breath, he starts again.

He doesn’t know how long he shoots for, but he has gathered all his arrows again for the fifth time when someone comes to find him. It’s his sister.

She sits down at a stone and waits for him to finish his next round; with honed precision, he pierces every arrow in a straight line down the same tree. When he finishes, he lets his shoulders sag with a heavy sigh. Mari still says nothing—not until he walks over and slumps down on the rock, right next to her, gratefully accepting a sip from her waterskin.

He exhales and dries the sweat off his brow before it can grow cold in the evening air.

“People have been talking, y’know. For some time now,” Mari tells him. He looks at her, inquiringly. “They notice. You being reluctant to find a mate.”

He stares down at his shoes for a while before answering. “Maybe I should have. Found someone. Anyone. At least then, they wouldn’t have chosen for me.”

“Wouldn’t that just be the same?” Mari reasons. “You could have found someone, but if they were _anyone_ then it would just be the same.”

She has a point, he knows, and it doesn’t even irritate him that she is right. Even if it would have been _his_ choice in one sense, in another it wouldn’t. He feels a tiredness come over him.

“At least this way I’m of use to everyone, huh.” He thinks bitterly on the elders’ words. _It will be a privilege._

Mari doesn’t reply. For a while, the siblings sit in silence, only disrupted by the distant river stream and the crash of gentle waves against the shore. Occasionally, a hound barks or a child cries down in the village. The sun barely sets now, while the solstice grows near. Soon, it won’t set at all, and the days will be unending. So they sit in quiet admiration, watching the weak twinkle of the few stars that are still visible in the sky above the bay, knowing they won’t see them again before the night has returned.

“I could help you run,” Mari proposes then, to Yuuri’s surprise.

“How?” he asks, unblinkingly.

She shrugs dismissively, but he knows from her determined frown that she has clearly thought about it. “We’ll set you on a boat, take the coastline south. You could go to the summer lands, find Phichit and stay with him. He could take you even further, to the far lands even, before winter. You’d be far gone before we made it there, and no one would make you do anything.”

It is a tempting idea. Oh so very tempting. He misses his friends in the summer lands, even though it has only been three moons since they parted.

But running, going away for good, would mean he would never see his mother again. Never see his father, and Mari, and Minako. He would never see Yuuko’s children grow up, and he would never teach them how to hunt with a good heart.

His voice is thin as he chokes a sob and wills his eyes not to water. “I can’t. Mari, I can’t.”

She hugs him then, tightly, and he shakes, but he refuses to cry.

They watch the night-sun as it rides low in the horizon, glowing and bright.

“Do you want to know?” Mari asks, quietly. “Who he is? I heard them talk about him.”

Yuuri hesitates, but then nods slowly.

“He’s a great hunter, you’ll be glad to know. They call him Victor.”

He freezes.

It is a name he has heard before. It is a name impossible not to know; its fame has blown with the winds across the winter lands for many years.

To call him a great hunter is an understatement: he has felled more Great Bears than _any_ hunter known before him. It is said that the spirits themselves put a spear at his mother’s feet when he was born.

At the great Meets, when the clans of the winter lands come together in the Summer Bay to trade, learn, and show off their arts and prowess and hunt together, Victor has dominated the contests since Yuuri was but twelve summers old. He remembers very clearly watching him win the contest of the spears against many seasoned hunters, awed and admiring that someone hardly a handful of summers older than him could achieve such things. He had even gone as far as to name his dear companion after the hunter, hoping the power of the name would reflect in him.

Now, Victor, if Yuuri remembers correctly, should be in his prime, and, like with Yuuri, many have probably found it strange he has not taken a mate.

He is strong and renowned, desired amongst all who dwell the winter lands, surely.

And now he has been chosen—for him. _For_ _Yuuri._

“Yuuri?” Mari pokes his cheek. “Did you go to sleep?”

He shakes his head, and stares at her intently, fists clenched in his lap. “You’re certain?”

“Of course I am,” she insists, eyebrow raised as she studies his expression. “It’s that hunter, isn’t it? The one you watch at the meets.”

His lack of an audible answer is a good enough answer in itself.

She hums knowingly, but doesn’t push the matter further. Instead, she says, “Everyone has gone to their huts now. We should go see Minako. I’m sure she’ll want to speak with you.”

Yuuri nods mutely and stands up with his sister, letting her help gathering the arrows before they slowly make the walk back to the settlement. Even if he feels anxious about meeting the seer now, he wants to speak with her too.

-

Minako is brewing him a warm cup of his favourite berry and birch tea when they come into her hut, almost as if she had been expecting them.

For a while, Yuuri let’s Mari do the talking while he enjoys the steaming beverage, taking careful sips from his cup. She and Minako talk about the seer’s journey, what she’s seen on the mountains, how the weather was, how long she spent with the Bear clan, if their food was any good, and other petty things that Yuuri only pays partial attention to.

He sits with Minako long after Mari leaves to go sleep. Only then do they breach the topic at hand.

When she first opens her mouth, true to her nature, it’s to tease him. “So, all it takes is mentioning this Victor for you to change your mind? Had I known, I would have told you his name the moment I returned.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Yuuri insists, “I wish I could say no. But it’s expected of me.”

“Not expected,” she says. “It is foretold.”

He stares ahead grimly at those words, but says nothing more on it. He doesn’t want to argue about fate and spirits; the events of the day have tired him enough as it is.

Instead, he asks, “Do you… know when we will meet?”

Minako nods while pouring herself a cup of the tea, still steaming hot over the flames. “At the last Great Meet, near three moons from now. He will have to prove himself there as the best candidate in his clan. Not that I doubt he will succeed, looking at his previous achievements… but our elders will want to affirm that he is strong and virile. That he is good enough for you. If they decide he is, we will unify you at the first darkening.”

Yuuri’s cheeks heat up as he considers this. In truth, in seems unfair that Victor has to be the one to do all this to prove his worth to him. With his own far shorter string of achievements, he rather thinks it should be _him_ out there proving himself for Victor.

Instead, Yuuri is very much being reduced to a role in all this. As a hunter and provider, he has been brought up learning how to present himself as a worthy partner for his intended, to have his value measured in the clothes he can put on their backs and the food he can put in their bellies.

Now, he feels very much reduced to his body only—and to what it can do. What is _expected_ of him.

His mood sours as he thinks on this and he frowns deeply, because that is all they want from him, is it not? A link to a powerful clan, through blood. And perhaps that’s all Victor sees too: a suitable match for carrying his child.

He doesn’t want Yuuri for his skill with the bow, or for his company or conversation. He wants to please his clan and the everlasting spirits—bring about great honour unto himself, and father strong children.

“…and then?” he asks to distract himself from the spiralling thoughts. “After we’re brought together… will we come back here?”

Minako hums softly against the rim of her cup. “I am uncertain which traditions his clan follows. If it is as I’ve heard, he will have prepared an abode for the two of you to spend the rest of the summer together. Their customs are built on a strange sort of possessiveness, you see. He has to prove than he can provide for a family while also ensuring that…well, that no other suitor can contest his claim.”

Yuuri swallows thickly. “They sound rather… distrustful.”

She cracks a smile at this and pokes a playful finger at his shoulder. “Or he appreciates that having a strong and desirable mate like yourself warrants some precautions, should he not wish to lose your affections to a rival.”

“M-Minako!” he splutters at her rather scandalous notion, that Yuuri would even consider being disloyal to his One, much to her amusement. But he worries still. “I wouldn’t…do that to him.”

“I know you would not,” she assures him, and sighs into her cup. “Ah well. I think they mean to have you stay until it is certain that you are expecting. Depending on how long that takes, you might have to spend the winter with him.”

Yuuri feels his throat tighten at this, not liking the idea one bit. To be forced to leave his clan for the sake of someone else’s traditions seems unjust and cruel. To be made to spend an entire winter in a land he is unfamiliar with, with a man whose intentions are so shrouded in the unknown…not to mention, the expectation that he is to…

He hardly notices that he is crying until Minako puts her cup down to wrap her warm, familiar arms around him. The first sob escapes him, and there is no stopping the breaking of the dam and the river that follows.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet child.” Minako shushes, stroking his hair gently as he cries into her shoulder, as he has done so many times before. “You might dislike them very much at this moment, but the spirits will guide you, I promise. And you will see us come summer, no matter what happens between now and then. We shall meet again. The spirits promised me this.”

And Yuuri really hopes she is right.


	2. Chapter 2

_Part Two_

-

Yuuri hasn’t always known he is… different.

He supposes there were some signs, like how his wounds and scratches healed far more quickly than anyone else he knew; but, mostly, he was just like any other child in their clan. The path to understanding just _how_ different he is began, when he thinks on it, with his sister.

One day, when Mari had grown enough, she had started bleeding through her clothes while they were out playing with the hounds. Yuuri and Yuuko had both been scared for her and had wanted to run to Minako for help, but Mari had been very calm about her ailment.

She explained that it wasn’t a dangerous thing; her mother had told her all about it, after all. It might have hurt a little, but it wouldn’t kill her. All it meant was that she was a woman, and that she could now have children.

They had been awed, and a bit disgusted at the idea that bleeding from between your legs could be a sign of adulthood. Afterwards, Yuuri didn’t really give it much thought. Other than when Mari would complain about her tummy aching every now and again, which got her their mother’s sympathy and a day free from her chores, it didn’t really concern him anyway.

When Yuuko first bled, not much changed between them. They were still friends, and they would still shoot arrows and go explore the outskirts of the settlement together, but as her body grew and shaped itself into that of a young woman’s, her attentions would often flit to the other growing youths of the clan. Yuuri didn’t quite understand the shift from the carefree mind of a child to the concerns of a young man or woman, but as long as Yuuko would still play with him, he supposed he didn’t mind not understanding.

Then, a year later, Yuuri started bleeding too. (And he learned exactly why Mari needed those days in the hut, squirming and moaning for her aching body.)

It didn’t happen often, far less than with Mari or Yuuko, but the first time was impossible to hide, and he could never forget the humiliation of standing in the horde of pointing children with his trousers leaking red.

He is sure his mother must have known that he was somewhat different before that incident, but she had never made a point of it. He hadn’t been treated any differently and there hadn’t been anything indicating that he _was_ different. He had bathed with the other children enough times to have observed that he was still very much a boy, and functioned as such.

But he was “blessed”. That’s what the adults had said—voices hushed with pride and excitement, as if this was a very good thing.

To Yuuri, it was anything but. To him, it didn’t mean being “something more”. It only meant being “different”.

The other kids had been very curious at first, poking at his body and asking uncomfortable questions, as children are wont to do. They had prodded at his hips and chest without asking his permission, queried him about vague, adult topics that he knew just as much about as they did, and cruelly dared him to pull off his clothes to prove to them that he was still _really_ a boy.

Only when Minako had warned them it was all the work of the spirits, and that such gifts were not to be questioned or made fun of lest they anger them, the questions became whispers only carried out behind his back.

But he was not about to let them undo him.

Yuuri decided he would ignore them. He would focus on proving himself in other ways. He would become a good provider, a good hunter. An asset to the clan—someone to rely on. If he could be all that, he reasoned, then all those other things wouldn't matter anymore.

So one winter, once they had settled in the summer lands, he took the bow his mother had made him and went to the hut of a great archer, and asked that he teach him his ways.

Celestino had been moderately impressed with his skills and had taken him on, much to Yuuri’s relief. It was under this man’s tutelage that he began to bloom again after being scorched by the cruel exclusion that the other children had brought upon him with their pointing and whispers.

However, as he grew and settled into his skin, he became taller and rather handsome, and talented with the bow. Unbeknownst to him, this had given the others different reasons to whisper and stare, but no one had been there to tell him that what he thought were looks of intimidation and contempt, were in fact sighs of longing and awe.

-

Summer seems to stretch on forever.

Yuuri wills himself not to think on what awaits him at its end.

After the initial gathering of the elders, he is made to go to another one where he apologises for his actions (albeit untruthfully). There, he once more pledges his loyalty to their clan—and publicly accepts the decision they’ve made for him.

The news of his being promised to another hunter of such renown spreads like wildfire in dry grass. It is all everyone wants to talk about whenever they see him, and so, for days, he makes himself as scarce and unavailable as he possibly can.

He busies himself with his daily chores and routines. When it’s needed, even if only barely, he leaves on hunts—hunts that he draws out and makes far longer than necessary—and those are the best sort of days, when he can traverse the forest in his own company and not be made to _think_.

When he returns, he is too exhausted to do much more than eat supper and sleep, often avoiding talking to his parents altogether.

While they don’t mean to bring him distress, the issue of his union is continuously brought up. They need to prepare gifts and provisions, after all, to aid Yuuri and his One when he leaves his parents’ hut for his own.

(Mari, at least, is in good enough humour to joke that perhaps she can finally sleep all stretched out without waking up to a limb in her face for the first time since her brother was born.)

He spends some of his time with Minako, when she is not busy gathering herbs, leaving on shorter trips, or tending to the clan’s requests for healings and blessings from the spirits.

For the time before the solstice, he often hides out in her hut on the days he cannot hunt under the pretence of helping her prepare for the ceremony. (Which is only a half-lie, for he _does_ help her prepare quite a bit—carving charms to burn with the sacrifices and watching and listening as she practices her dance and chants.)

The solstice arrives, and it’s a lovely ceremony. The entire clan gathers by a large fire by the sea to watch as Minako sings and dances beneath the blazing night sun.

She moves like rays of sunlight across the water, playful and alive, natural and beautiful to the slow, mellow beat of the drums as she tells the story of the powers who pull the sun across the sky with the entirety of her being.

For the duration of her performance, Yuuri finds himself forgetting the distress and the self-pity he has carried in his heart. With the weight of it off his mind, he is swept away with the dance and song that thrums in his veins and captivates his attentions. He can almost feel the gravity in her steps; almost hear the power in her voice as it bleeds and blends with the rhythm of the drum. And while her performance, this year as every year before, is dedicated to the sun and sky, Yuuri curiously feels as if she is telling them something else, as well.

Later, as they burn their sacrifices in the fire, she whispers in his ear that she had thought much of him while she danced—of how he has grown, from that little boy who tried his best to imitate her spins with wobbly little steps, from when his mother first put a bow in his hand, from his first hunt and his first Meet, his first winter and his first summer, all the way to who he is now, the young man who stands before her, whose upbringing she has taken part in, who she has come to love so dearly.

At once, he feels undeserving—of her devotion, her effort, his family’s affections for him...they have all done their best to aid him, to offer help and support, and he has ignored them and acted ungratefully in the face of their love for him.

Nothing can be done to erase the pain and the bitterness of the injustice he feels is committed by sending him away, like the sacrifices they send to the flames. But Yuuri can bite his tongue and not dishonour the hard work his clan and his loved ones are putting into this betrothal on his behalf.

So after they fire has gone out and the long day passes into the next, Yuuri begins to work on a gift for his intended mate.

It doesn’t take much thought. He decides at once that he will bring his One the finest bow he has ever made. It will be a good gift, as per traditions, but it will also, per his design, be given out of contempt. It will be a show of Yuuri’s own skill, undeniable _proof_ of his ability as a hunter. It is something his future partner will have to look at and acknowledge, every time he lays his eyes on this weapon—that Yuuri is _capable._

And even if his mate will never let him touch a bow again, he won’t ever let him forget it.

So he wanders the forest for hours to pick the best sticks and branches to dry and work into perfection. While the days are long, he sits long into the bright nights and carves the wood, polishes it until it shines, sews the leather for the belts and the quiver, and balances the arrows with as much effort and attention to detail he can muster. The hide and the bone is from a deer he’s felled himself; the feathers and flint he has painstakingly chosen amongst dozens and dozens to shape and carve for his purpose.

After weeks of work, there is so, _so_ much of _him_ in this bow, in the quiver and in the arrows, that he feels as if handing it over will be just as painful as giving away a piece of himself. But Yuuri will have to give it—and then the rest of him will have to follow.

Yet, even knowing this, he works and works on the gift; soon, protective patterns are sewn into the quiver, little charms of luck and fortune carved from bones and strung onto it; more and more arrows join the first batch, feathers of eagles, and swans, and hawks blending together in colourful harmony. When there is, truly, no more work to be done, he still holds it far into the bright nights, cleaning it, restringing it, letting the _feel_ of it linger in his hands to keep his thoughts from wandering off...

Then, when the days have passed, and passed, and passed, the Great Meet arrives.

The Summer Bay is but a half-day’s travel away from the settlement. The part of the Elk clan that will go to the Meet—which is most of them, really—makes the journey by boat, along the coast. The weather is kind and warm when they leave, and the children sing and laugh, and call for each other from their boats as they rush across the water. The adults take their turns at the oars, and they stop but once at midday for rest a common meal.

Then, in the late day, with the sun still high in the sky, they first spot the many tents where they rise up along the coastline. Countless boats have already made it to the shore, and more are coming from down the Great River.

This Meet is the last one of the summer, and also the grandest; the Summer Bay will be filled to the brim with trade and events, and clans and hunters preparing to show their prowess in the great hunts and in the contests.

The Elk clan set up their tents close together, within the large camp. The ones who are trading goods this year prepare their booths alongside the other traders. Some are already sharpening their tools, getting ready for the contests they will participate in. Takeshi will partake in the timber contest, as well as the fishing one that is held the next day.

Yuuri, too, would normally be preparing to join one of the great hunts, where all the clans get together to hunt for a feast. But this year, he has brought nothing but his own clothes, the gifts from his family, and the bow he has made for his mate-to-be.

He tries his best to numb himself to it, but the bitterness still sours his mood and lingers in his stomach. He does his best not to show it, but he suspects that those who know him well enough can read it all over his face despite his efforts.

After he finishes helping his family set up their tent, and his father works on setting out their wares (which are mostly the pots they had learned to make over last winter down in the summer lands, a novelty to many of the clans at the Meet), Yuuri decides to wander among the displays.

He knows he should be preparing to go watch the first events that are being held in the evening. Minako has already gone to find out which ones his intended will be competing in. But he feels his participation is unnecessary—the final decision is to be made by the elders, either way. Nothing he says or does will change that.

Therefore, he indulges in his stroll instead. He loves the countless rows of trade displays, has loved them since he saw them for the very first time when his parents brought him to his first Meet. The strange scents and the new sights, and the many unfamiliar sounds never fail to entice him.

He listens to the people, watches them haggle and trade, listens to children squeal in delight when they are given a new treat to try, hears the many unfamiliar tongues blending together in the strangest sort of harmony, and feels his heart is lighter than it has been in many moons.

A woman in a booth offers him a taste of honey, which he happily accepts; he enjoys the near overwhelming sweetness of it as it melts on his tongue, and thinks of how lovely it would be in Minako’s birch tea. He is in the middle of contemplating what he would trade for a jar when loud, boisterous laughter brings his attention up ahead to a group of raucous hunters, and he finds his heart leaping up in his throat.

There, in their midst, stands an unmistakable figure. It’s Victor, his intended, surrounded by people who must be his clansmen.

All thoughts of honey leave him then, and he can’t help but let his eyes linger on the man with whom he will soon belong.

He is tall, and has always seemed to tower above most men, but this year he only stretches a little further than Yuuri himself. He supposes he has grown a little since he last saw him, two summers ago. He is far broader though, and the width of his shoulders lends him both size and a powerful frame, which is undoubtedly needed when launching spears as far and as hard as Yuuri has seen him do.

His hair, he has heard people say, is the shade of moonlight, and with the way it shines in the summer sun Yuuri can almost believe it’s true. It’s long, longer than Yuuri remembers, and tied back in a show of intricate braids to keep it out of his shapely face. Practical, and beautiful.

He throws his head back and laughs loudly at something that is said, and then speaks rapidly to his younger clansman—a short, light-haired child—and Yuuri doesn’t understand _a word_.

It hits him, then, that he and Victor may not speak the same tongues.

He, for one, doesn’t understand anything currently being said, and hardly any of the clans in the winter lands speak like they do in the summer lands—only Yuuri’s.

It is distressing, the thought that he shouldn’t be able to even converse with his One, to ask his thoughts and feelings and to tell of his own. Even the simplest conversation between them will be impossible. He already imagines that living life like so will grow to become very lonely over time.

Although, he infers, the sweetness of the honey gone bitter in his mouth, there will hardly be a need for conversation in order to fulfil their duties to the spirits.

Lost in his pondering, he startles terribly when Victor unexpectedly looks up and sets his crystal blue eyes on him.

 _Looking at him_.

His chest seizes up and his shoulders grow tense, until the voice of reason reminds him that Victor can’t possibly know what he looks like.

This reassurance makes him relax a little, yet he quickly breaks away from his stare and shuffles away, all thoughts of making trades gone, not daring to turn back.

-

“Yuuri, where have you been?”

Minako is not pleased when he returns to the tents. She stands in one of her ceremonial garbs, arms crossed and eyes severe as she watches him approach.

“I was at the trade quarters,” he says, truthfully, which earns him an exasperated sigh and two hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the tent.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the Meet, but we need to get you out of your travel garb and into something fitting for the occasion. The first event is about to start! Don’t you want to see Victor earn his place by your side?”

“Not particularly,” he admits, but lets her help undo his belts and pull the clothes over his head before presenting him with new ones to put on.

“It’s a shame,” she moans, adjusting the new tunic on his frame. “Every other year, you would have jumped for the opportunity to see him compete.”

His lips stretch into a thin line, and he doesn’t reply. She speaks the truth, and it hurts to admit how much he has looked up to the man who will now be his mate, and how different this Meet would be if it wasn’t so. She eyes him suspiciously through the silence.

She finally says, quietly, “It is not too late to go.”

Yuuri startles. “W-What do you mean?”

“I know Mari and you talked of it. Running,” she tells him, easily seeing through his deflection. “She worries, you know. She doesn’t wish you sadness.”

“I can’t,” he presses out, distress wound tightly in his throat. “I won’t. Not because of the spirits or whatever is in their will, but… because of you. If I run, I can never see you all again. I don’t want that.”

She smiles somewhat fondly as he says this. “And _that is_ the spirits’ will. That you will have to go, yes, but also that we will meet again. They’ve told me of our parting, and of our reunion. They will both happen, but _how_ it all happens is entirely up to us.”

He swallows thickly around the lump that has grown in his throat, surprised to hear her suggest such things. “But the vision you saw! The elk with the bear’s head. You and that other seer… you said you knew what it meant.”

She hums again, pondering her answer. “I know it means that something great will happen. Something that will change our ways of seeing things. Something new.”

She picks up one of the white furs and gently drapes it across his shoulders. It contrasts starkly with his dark hair, but Minako has always said it is becoming on him. Then she catches his face in her hands and lifts it to look at him with tender, caring eyes.

“And when I look at you, I see it,” she declares, thumb stroking gently over his sun-coloured cheek. “I see them watch over you, and I see them act in you. I do believe they have given you all you are for a purpose… and that purpose is not to make you unhappy. But you are.”

He frowns, lowering his eyes to avoid seeing the sadness that reflects in hers. “Of course I am. I don’t want to leave my family.”

“No, before I mean. You weren’t happy before this, either.” She releases him and looks up at the tent’s ceiling, through the smoke hatch that reveals the summer sky. “You are living, yes. You are doing your part in our clan, yes. But you haven’t been happy. Not for a long time.”

He wants to deny this. Wants to say that she’s wrong. But he can’t, because when he considers her words they ring truer than his protests, in the most painful of ways.

“You were always meant to do something bigger, Yuuri,” Minako insists. “You may say that you only hunt for necessity, but the way your arrow strikes true tells of someone who wants to achieve greatness. You want to show all the people in the winter lands that you know how to hunt with the bow, and that you do it _better_ than all of them.”

“I don’t, though,” he objects, baffled that she would have him admit such a conceited desire. “There is no way to tell if I am better than them.”

“But you still want it.”

He bites his cheek and refrains from replying.

So she sighs again. “So stubborn.”

He grimaces, and she can’t help but laugh.

“Though I suppose it is that stubbornness which will bring this greatness.” She smiles as she admits this, and reaches out to hold one of his hands. “Look Yuuri, I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, and I don’t think I need to. You’ve already decided to stay, and that decision will bring about large changes—both for you, and for Victor, and for us all. I am not telling you it will be easy to do this, but you have a good heart. You will know how to do what is right, and I believe you can convince Victor to do the same.”

He looks down to where her hand holds his, the unease from earlier still a gruelling, quelling might in his stomach. “I… how can I… I don’t think he will understand. I mean,” he mumbles, stumbling for the words to express his newly found concern. “I don’t think we can talk. To each other, in the same tongue.”

She hums, thoughtfully. “Well, I already said it won’t be easy… and that is a reasonable concern. But, you do have other ways you can communicate, you know,” she reasons. Then she adds, slyly, “Like, move your hips more if you want him to go harder, kick him where it hurts if you want him to stop.”

“ _Minako!_ ” He squeezes her hand, hard, but she doesn’t even flinch or otherwise seem to feel it.

“Hm? I’m sure your mother has told you all about how to expand the family by now. Do you need me to explain again?”

“O-Of course I know,” he mutters. “I don’t need to hear you say it like that, though.”

She doesn’t seem sorry in the least.

The mood inside the tent has lightened considerably as a result of her humour, and they finish dressing him with amiable chatter, working on the belts and amulets until he at last is deemed presentable for his elders and for his betrothed.

“…thank you,” he mumbles, eventually. It’s not just for her help with his clothes, but for everything else, and he thinks she understands when she smiles fondly and embraces him tightly.

“You’re welcome, sweet child.”

-

The crowd that has gathered for the first event is large, in spite of it being the first day of the Meet, and already teeming with excitement. Yuuri doubts he would have been able to see much of anything, had Minako not been there to lead him through the horde of people who had gathered to watch the contest.

On their way there, she had cheerfully informed him that this contest would be Victor’s favoured event: the contest of the spears.

It is held on an open field, on which several targets have been raised for the occasion. They are mostly logs covered in layers of tough skins; some are adorned with horns to look like animals from a distance. Many of the closest ones are already ridden with holes from the qualifying rounds.

Yuuri lets Minako pull him to the frontline. He sees the Elk Clan’s elders gathered on the other side of the field, and between them stands the gathering of contestants.

Among them is Victor. He doesn’t look any different than he had in the trade quarter, save for the lack of his outer furs, displaying his toned arms and shoulders for the smouldering stares of the crowd. And stare they do. Even Yuuri finds it hard to tear his eyes away; he attempts to convince himself that his interest is entirely that of a peer, but he finds he can’t persuade his thumping heart and warming cheeks to think the same.

He takes a breath, and wills himself to focus on the contest rather than on one sole contestant.

For a long, long while they watch as hunter after hunter makes their attempts to spear the “beasts”. From the first round, most have already advanced. In the following ones, many fall short when the targets move further and further away.

After the fifth round, only three hunters out of the original qualifiers remain in the competition.

Yuuri, to his surprise, sees that Christophe is among them.

Christophe is a man originating from a southern tribe who has adopted a far more nomadic lifestyle than his fellow clansmen, traveling alone between the tribes in the winter and summer lands.

He had stayed with the Elk clan in the summer lands two winters before, and had been an interesting, albeit… _overly_ friendly guest, in Yuuri’s opinion. But he is a great hunter in his own right, and had joined Yuuri on many treks through the woods; although, Yuuri remembers, he had been a bit too loud and boisterous for Yuuri’s preferred methods, favouring to lie in wait for an animal rather than stalking it as Yuuri would. He had also been a bit too keen to be in Yuuri’s company, and he was certain that with all the times he had slapped a wandering hand away from his back, his clansmen had surely thought that they were more than just companions on their hunts.

Nevertheless, Yuuri makes a note to talk with him before he leaves again. Christophe always tells the stories of his travels like they are epic tales from lands far away, and is, _truly_ , good company—when he keeps his hands to himself, that is.

The second contestant is a younger man, whom Yuuri does not recognise. From the shape of his face and the way he wears his clothes, he thinks he must be from a far eastern clan. He cuts a most severe sort of character, his hair black as charred logs, and his eyes even darker.

And lastly, of course, there is Victor.

From the reactions of the crowd, he is currently the obvious favourite. When he makes the latest throw, spearing his weapon through what is meant to be the neck of the wooden animal, at a commendable distance, the cheers are loud and approving. He smiles brightly and waves at them all as he retrieves his spear from the “prey”, garnering even more screams and cheers for his trouble.

Yuuri cheers too. For the moment, he is so caught up in the excitement of the games that the significance of the result has been forgotten for the time being.

For the next round, the contestants move another few lengths away from the target. They are now at a distance at which Yuuri would only be comfortable hunting from with his bow.

The stranger from the east land is to go first. From the shouts from the crowd, Yuuri deduces his name to be “Bek”, or something similar to it. Bek is far younger than Christophe and Victor both, and also far smaller. While his build is powerful, arms muscled and made for the throws he makes, he is short—shorter than Yuuri, even, and but a child compared to his competition. Each new round finds him straining for his spear to cover the new distance.

Until now, he has kept up, but for this throw the spear strikes wrongly. It fails to pierce the skin and bounces off the “prey”. The crowd murmurs in dejection, but cheers amiably when Bek retrieves his spear and bows in gratitude to the spectators.

Next up is Christophe. He has no tribe to cheer for him at the Meet, yet everyone seem to have been caught by his charisma and style. He has made it through every round so far, and good hunters, no matter where they’re from, are commended for their skill. (And it’s surely not a hindrance that he is a rather handsome man.)

Minako, especially, seems to favour the flourish he puts into his throws; but, then again, Minako had seemed to favour Christophe very much back when he had stayed with them as well. If not for the fact that she couldn’t ever have a One, Yuuri would have thought that she had very much intended to make a mate out of Christophe. (But if not for herself, then likely for someone else in the clan so that they could all claim the hunter as one of theirs.)

Christophe makes this throw very well; the spear pierces the animal through its “belly”.

Yuuri cheers along with the crowd, excited for his friend’s success, but then it’s Victor’s turn, and the severity of the competition returns to his attention. When Victor grabs his spear, changing his grip until he’s satisfied with it, Yuuri holds his breath.

Victor runs for speed, and it’s almost like watching a dance. He his light on his feet, yet everything about his posture speaks of power. His arm clenches, and the spear flies from his hand like an arrow from a bowstring, and hits true—straight through the prey’s “ribs”.

The crowd cheers wildly, and even Christophe is clapping, looking at the poor “beast” with commendable awe.

Then they are moved even further away, and the next round commences.

This time, regrettably, Christophe’s spear goes too high and flies over the beast’s back.

Both Minako and Yuuri mourn his miss, but there is hardly any time for it before it’s Victor’s turn again, and the crowd falls deathly silent. All know that this could very well be the last round, unless Victor misses this throw.

The suspense is almost deafening, but it only seems to feed Victor, for when he makes the next throw the spear flies with stunning precision. It breaks through the beast’s neck with such force, that the wood splinters beneath the leather and the head falls off.

He is the champion, and the crowd hails him raucously.

Victor touches shoulders with Christophe—a sign of goodwill for his competitor—and they exchange a few words before a sightseer whom Yuuri doesn’t recognise calls for the champion’s attention and his competitor falls away.

Victor receives a gorgeous amulet, carved by a seer from the bone of a large deer. Yuuri has seen them before – polished and hung on leather strings, engraved and burned with the marks of the Goddess of the Hunt. In this particular one, he knows, she carries a spear. A blessing for the champion.

The sightseer hangs it around his neck and calls out the blessings that are put unto him. He will also receive other gifts, such as pelts and oils, but far more importantly, he has won honour for his name and his clan.

Victor waves at the cheering crowd and seems to enjoy the attentions he receives for his achievement, but as soon as the seer steps away from him, he quickly starts looking through the horde of people, as if he is searching for someone.

 _Perhaps his family_ , Yuuri ponders, but he isn’t left to ponder long before Minako grabs his elbow and pulls him forward with her.

As they break the circle of spectators they catch Victor’s attention, and once he spots them approaching he quickly comes to meet them.

Before Yuuri can comprehend what is happening, the man whom he is meant for is standing in his space, very, _very_ close to him. He is so close that Yuuri can see the sweat on his brow, possibly count every bright eyelash that frames his crystal-like eyes, and smell the scent that reeks from his skin—a composition of sweat and leather and rich heath...which he doesn’t find to be unpleasant.

Victor stares at him, intently, and Yuuri can’t look away.

He reaches around his own neck and pulls off the amulet he has just been awarded. He holds it up and easily threads it over Yuuri’s own head, his coarse hands trailing after the string and lingering momentarily at the amulet where it now rests over Yuuri’s own heart.

Yuuri feels his chest burn under the weight of those hands, the warmth spreading quickly to his face and the very tips of his ears. He doesn’t even give a thought to the crowd, which is still there, still watching.

Then Victor speaks. His voice is not gruff or coarse, nor as light as to be jarring on the ears, but soft and pleasant; it is almost melodious, and filled with emotions. And Yuuri can’t understand a word he’s saying, except for the very last one.

“Yuuri.”

His name.

“He says that he is _very_ pleased to finally meet you,” Minako helpfully translates from his left, but her brow furrows, perhaps with concentration for the task. “And that he hopes that with this you will decide to take him as yours.”

Yuuri falters as she says this, uncertain how to respond. Has she perhaps made an error in her interpretation? Even if not, this isn’t supposed to be his choice to begin with—it is the elders that need asking.

Yet, Victor has come to him, directly, the elders forgone completely in favour of finding Yuuri. Perhaps he has misunderstood and thought that this was what he was meant to do. That seems like a plausible reason for all this confusion.

But now that he is confronted with this, he will have to accept on their behalf, for that’s surely what they’d want. And Victor had shown himself deserving, had he not?

Blinking away his bewilderment, he turns shakily to Minako.

“H-How do I accept?”

She tells him a few simple syllables that hold no meaning to him, but when he mimics them at Victor, the man smiles brightly and grabs both his hands in his. He lifts them to his mouth and kisses his palms, at which the crowd around them erupts into cheers, laughter and bird-like whistles, and the sudden reminder that they are still there makes Yuuri’s face sting all the way to the tips of his ears.

Once his hands are released, Minako tells Victor something sharply, and before a response beyond perplexed blinking can be given, she pulls on Yuuri’s arm to make him turn away and leave with her rather abruptly.

Before he can gather enough wits about him to ask her what she had said, she beats him to it and says, “I told him you are tired from travelling. From the way he was going about with your hands, he seemed to be more than ready to take you straight back to his tent!”

“He wouldn’t!” Yuuri swears, and Minako laughs, throwing a quick look over her shoulder.

“The way he is looking at you right this moment tells me otherwise.”

Yuuri doesn’t dare turn around to see for himself if her claim is true.

_-_

Sleep doesn’t come easy to Yuuri that night.

When they return to their camp, his entire clan seems to know what has happened, and all want to either ask about Victor— _is he not handsome? He is such a good hunter! Did you see that last throw? With those arms, he could lift you easily, couldn’t he! Yuuri, you’re so lucky to have him as your One! He will surely provide for you!—_ or see the amulet gifted to him by his _so very accomplished_ mate-to-be.

It also becomes apparent that the elders, albeit a little miffed, recognise his acceptance of Victor’s proposal as binding, but with everything that has happened today all Yuuri truly cares for is the warmth of his sleeping skin.

When he finally manages to escape into his family’s tent, he immediately throws off his overly ornate clothes and charms, and curls up beneath his furs, intent on ignoring anyone and everyone until the day is made new again.

Yet, long into the night, Yuuri _still_ lies awake and pondering, for while he has successfully deterred anyone else from speaking to him, the voices in his head can’t be quieted as easily. His parents and his sister have long since fallen asleep by now. Their snores and heavy breathing fill the space of the tent along with the cracking from the dying embers, while Yuuri’s own worries fill his head.

All that has been said to him—from his elders, from his clansmen, from his family—he echoes again and again and again, attempting to convince himself that they are all true.

_I am lucky to have him._

_He will provide for me._

_The spirits want this._

_We have been matched._

_I should be honoured._

The amulet grows heavy around his neck, so he takes it off and holds it in his palm, admiring the craftsmanship that has gone into it. As he has carved many charms himself, he can appreciate the smooth edges and the burned lines, and how the motif is utilising the natural shading of the bone to make it appear as if the Huntress glows with light, the illusion of a bright summer sun at her back.

It is a beautiful piece of work, but more than that, it is _proof_.

Proof that Victor is suitable for him. Proof that his mate-to-be is a great hunter. Proof that he can provide for him and his clansmen. Proof that Yuuri _doesn’t have to_.

It is conflicting, really. On one hand, it feels like mockery, that he should carry the amulet from a contest in which he never threw a single spear, as if it is _he_ who is the trophy rather than the amulet itself… and while he supposes he is, in a way, there is this tiny shred of doubt that this was not the intention of gifting it to him.

And it is that doubt that makes him think on how it had felt to stand near the man he had admired so ardently for so long, and to have him look at _him_ , _at Yuuri_ , with such joy and relief and—if Minako was to be believed— _want_.

He groans into his sleeping skin, for it is entirely unfair that something so upsetting and angering to him should also have his heart beat so wildly with, dare he say, _longing_ for the very same thing.

Not longing for the suppression, or the humiliation of being reduced as he is…but longing for standing next to Victor— _as his equal_.

This is something Yuuri has wanted since he had first seen the other hunter that day so many summers ago. He has often dreamed of it: in these dreams, he would win the contest of archery, and Victor would watch him do it. Then they would meet, matching amulets hung around their necks, and simply _talk_. Victor would commend Yuuri for his skill and ask to hunt with him, and they would soon be fast companions out in the fields. Inseparable. Free to go where they chose. _Unstoppable._

Now that he thinks on them, they are all very silly dreams. It should have occurred to him a lot earlier that they didn’t speak the same tongue, for one. Moreover,  there is no reasons for which Victor would logically ask him to hunt together, unless he stayed with Yuuri’s clan for a season or he with Victor’s. And furthermore, Yuuri has never won a contest, or even come close to winning one, in his life. He had participated in a few in the Meets in the summer lands, even one or two in the north, but never in the Great Meet. There was something very different about shooting his arrows under the scrutiny of himself and the spirits only, and shooting in a contest. Whether it is the presence of the people watching or the pressure to perform, he doesn’t know. Nor does it matter. His nerves always get to him in the end.

Yet, as silly as they were, they had been _good_ dreams, devoid of the pressure and _expectations_ he is currently facing. Just Yuuri and Victor: hunters, winners, and _equals_.

When sleep finally claims him in his exhaustion, he dreams that he is hunting.

The sky is blue and pink and magnificent; the landscape stretches wide and open before him, gleaming beneath the sun and filled with grazing prey—and he is not alone. When he turns to his right, Victor is there, spear in hand, but not making any moves to fell the beasts. Instead, he looks at Yuuri. He smiles, and says, in his pleasant, melodic voice, “You will make it on the first try, won’t you, Yuuri. I want to see it.” Before he knows it, he has raised his bow—the one he has just made to present to his mate—and with Victor’s guiding voice steady in his ears, he takes aim…

-

That morning, the moment he wakes, Yuuri comes to a decision.

It is late when he rises and his family have already departed for the day, but someone has left him a cup of mushroom soup for breakfast. It is still lukewarm, so he downs it quickly, still chewing on a piece of fungi while he looks for his belts.

He dresses hurriedly and grabs the bow and quiver he had spent the last moons making for his mate. He pauses before leaving the tent, and then takes the amulet as well and hangs it around his neck.

The first round of the contest of archery has already passed when he arrives at the field. The crowd is just as large as the day before, if not larger now that most of the participating clans have rested and are eager to participate in the remainder of the Meet.

He sees some of the Elk clan scattered around the crowd, but it’s when he sees _Victor_ there that he pauses.

 _Why is he here_ , he wonders to himself. He has never seen Victor participate in this contest before, or even pay attention to it, and he doesn't look to be trying his hand at another amulet…

Yuuri reasons that perhaps he has clansmen participating and he is there to show his support.

But there is no turning back now, not for Yuuri, and Victor’s presence or absence won’t sway him or his decision.

He looks to the field where some of the children helping out are already pulling the arrows free from the “animals”. Once they are done and out of the way, Yuuri steps forward and draws his bow.

He comes to walk passed another competitor who sees what he is doing and immediately protests loudly. Yuuri sees, from the corner of his eye, that it is the same light-haired boy he had seen Victor with in the trade quarters the day before.

The boy is insistent in his brash complaints, but Yuuri ignores the protests (not that he can understand them anyway) and then proceeds to silence them with an arrow shot straight through the animal’s “eye”.

It is incredibly effective, for the crowd falls deathly silent. There is a look of confusion on most of their faces—some trying to make sense of the new competitor’s untimely arrival; others still haven’t noticed Yuuri, and are attempting to see where that arrow had come from.

Yuuri exhales as the murmurs start up, but doesn’t give them the chance to deter him. He stalks back a few lengths, and puts another arrow right next to his first.

This time, the crowd gasps, some possibly in awe, others probably infuriated that he has the nerve to do this. That is certainly the case for the little light-haired boy who is still fuming and roaring at him using what must be quite colourful expletives. Yuuri almost finds it amusing.

But there is no time to think. If he starts thinking, it’s over. Instead, he stalks further back, as far as the fourth round would probably be and puts his arrow in the skull.

He repeats this a last time, walking as far back as he dares, a few lengths further than he would normally be comfortable in attempting, and lets the arrow loose.

It hits true, and the bow sings in his hand as he releases another one, and another one, each one heightening the crowd’s outrage and anticipation.

They all pierce the creature’s head, which now looks more like a twig from a conifer than an animal, littered with Yuuri’s arrows.

He lowers the bow and quickly turns to the seer who oversees the contest to bow his head, deeply.

“I apologise for my rudeness!” he cries out, “But please accept my participation.”

For a moment, the seer stands still, quietly considering the unexpected proposal while the onlookers grow restless and argue amongst themselves whether it would be proper to allow him to partake despite his lateness.

Yuuri knows this had been his best bet. If he had attempted to participate per the rules, the elders would forbid it. They would have stopped him before he could set loose a single arrow.

This way, the seer has seen him. There is no keeping him out if they decide that the will of the spirits has put him there, and they would have to let him compete.

_This is the only way._

For a long moment, the seer regards him in silence while the uproar of the crowd and the remaining contestants rage around them.

Then, he nods at Yuuri, and gestures for the contest to continue.

The relief rushes over him as cooling first snow over his overheated skin. He could almost laugh, if not for the deadly glares his light-haired competitor is throwing his way. It would not be in good taste to mock the other archers, and that wasn’t his intention to begin with.

Instead, he turns to the field and watches the next contestant attempt to best him.

And so, every other contestant has a go. Arrows fly and fall short, or too far, littering the distance between them and the target or flying far behind. When it is Victor’s clansman’s turn, the child comes closest of them all by grazing the animal’s “head”. It is a commendable attempt, but it is not good enough.

It soon becomes clear that no one will beat Yuuri’s shot—and he is not even certain he could recreate it now that his head is no longer empty and his nerves twitch in his fingers.

He wins.

The crowd cheers as he is awarded with the amulet: it is the equivalent of the one he already wears, but in this one, the Goddess of the Hunt lifts a bow in place of a spear. The seer blesses him and recites his reward—food and pelts for his clan and oil to pour on the fires in honour of the Great Elk—and Yuuri feels something like pride warm his heart for this achievement.

But he still has something to do.

Once the seer is done with his rituals, Yuuri turns to the crowd. He avoids his clansmen and finds Victor immediately. He is hard to miss, even in the midst of a horde, like a bright star in a dark night sky. He has been applauding along with the crowd, but stops the moment his eyes meet Yuuri’s.

Yuuri stalks up to him with all that is left of his bravery and determination. They stand as they had the day before, but their roles are reversed now. Victor’s eyes are wide and wondrous as they look at one another. His hair cascades over his shoulder today, freed from the many braids and ties of the day before. There is no sweat on his brow now, but his scent is still earthy and pleasant.

He lets his hands fumble for the right string. He lifts the amulet—making sure it’s the one he has just received—over his head and, standing on his toes, hangs it around Victor’s neck, forcing himself not to flinch when his hands brush against the other man’s blazing skin.

“It’s yours,” he splutters as he withdraws, his courage suddenly forsaking him, but he pushes through, and says, “For good luck.”

He isn’t sure Victor understands; he keeps looking on, wide-eyed in his surprise, but Yuuri shuffles away feeling...well, somewhat embarrassed, to be sure, but also a lot better than he had the night before.

Now they all know.

Everyone had seen.

Everyone knows that Yuuri, too, is capable.

(The elders are decidedly not happy with his little display, but he cannot be bothered to care beyond a few half-hearted apologies and assurances that he will, definitely, go through with the union. Minako, whom he had been most anxious to disappoint, only smiles knowingly when she sees him, and that’s how he knows that it doesn’t matter how displeased these old men and women are with what he has done, with how he had picked up that bow and followed his heart, for it had been _right_.)


	3. Chapter 3

_Part Three_

-

In the day that follows, Yuuri doesn’t join the other hunters for the great hunt.

Or rather, he is not allowed to.

Not that it bothers him—not any longer, anyway, now that he has the archery contest under his belt. He still can’t quite fathom that it hadn’t all just been another, silly dream. It should be impossible, really, that he had found the confidence to walk down to that field with the intention to _win_. But he had. It should have been impossible that his nerves had not betrayed him and sent his arrows astray. But they hadn’t. He had won, and it hadn’t been a dream.

It had been exhausting—not for his body, used to long treks in rough terrain with little rest, but for his mind. His head had been heavy for the rest of the day, buzzing with the aftermath of the contest and the response from everyone around him. And so, he welcomes a day to spend on his own without his curious acquaintances or relatives hounding him for gossip and chatter.

So he sleeps in, waking far into the morning, and when he has eaten and dressed, he devotes his time to mending his arrows and polishing the bow, preparing it again for the events of the following evening where he will give it away. He meditates on this while his hands complete the ritual of restringing and cleaning the weapon with efficient familiarity and a lingering touch.

He is certain he doesn’t spend very long on this task, so he startles when he becomes aware of someone’s presence outside the tent long before the others ought to be returning from the hunt. He is wary at first, his left hand tightening around the shaft of his bow while the other unconsciously reaches for an arrow, but Yuuri is positively surprised to see that it’s Christophe’s familiar face that pokes through the flap.

“I thought I would find you here,” the man grins widely and invites himself inside.

“Christophe!” Yuuri greets his friend, and immediately puts aside his weapon to embrace him properly—which is his own mistake really, because while his own arms are both thrown around his friend’s back, a deft hand sneaks behind him to cop a hearty feel of his rear.

“I see you’ve been keeping in shape,” Christophe laughs, not at all seeming to mind his now throbbing hand or Yuuri’s attempt to chastise him for his debauched habits. “I’m glad I came to see you. I believe we have a lot of catching up to do, Yuuri.”

“You’re not joining the hunt?” Yuuri asks, puzzled when he realises that his friend’s presence here implies his absence out in the fields.

Christophe shrugs, sitting down next to Yuuri’s sleeping skin. “They never were my thing, the great hunts. I don’t have anyone but myself to hunt for, and no clan or mate to bring honour with my skills. It would be needless slaughter for me.”

Yuuri nods, understanding. If he were like Christophe, without a clan to hunt for, he wouldn’t bother with this particular tradition either.

“But I hear that your situation has changed since we last met!” Christophe gives him a knowing look as he changes the topic. “Who would have thought? That Yuuri of the Elk clan should go and leave hundreds of hearts broken, all in the course of a summer!”

“Uh, yes…” Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks on how to answer this.

The reminder of just how many out there who wished to be in his stead, who had longed to be the one to become Victor’s mate, is uncomfortable to hear. For on one hand, he understands their disappointment, and understands why they would direct it towards him; he who hadn’t even met Victor face-to-face until very recently, yet was still chosen to be his One. But on the other hand, they surely only see the benefits of this arrangement, of being known as the mate of the greatest hunter the summer lands have known, and do not know how Yuuri has suffered for it, how it has torn on his pride and pulled his conscience in every direction of the sky.

It is all very difficult to think on.

Christophe might have been expecting a more humorous response in place of the silence he receives, for Yuuri’s hesitation brings a sheen of concern over his friend’s face. “…Yuuri. I can tell there is more to this than I am privy to. You don’t have to tell me anything you wish not to.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and nods gratefully while he tries to smile. “Thank you, Chris.”

With the understanding that the topic of his upcoming mating is a rather sensitive one, they talk of other things instead, like the passing of the contests and of the time they have been apart.

True to expectations, Christophe relates the tale of his recent journeys in the same manner he performs in contests: full of flair and grandeur, and not one dull moment to be found. Yuuri, in turn, talks of his clan's migration the past winter. He briefly mentions the passing of his dear companion, but quickly moves on to the topic of Phichit, their fellow acquaintance, who has recently taken to training under a sightseer in the summer lands.

Christophe recalls that Phichit had always been exceptionally gifted with sensing the emotions of all animals, so it was only a matter of time before he was called upon by a seer. Yuuri agrees and tells him of a time when they were children and Phichit had proceeded to befriend a group of lemmings that had surprisingly accepted him as their caretaker. Since then, he had held a preference towards small rodents and once announced in earnest that he had decided to specialise his archery for hunting birds of prey by the logic of “protecting his little friends.” Whether it was all a jest, or a serious venture on his part, both Christophe and Yuuri have to admit that Phichit was now possibly one of the best archers out there when it came to felling aerial creatures.

Yuuri isn’t certain how long they talk for; it’s possibly quite a long while, but he finds it immensely relieving to be able to talk of something that lets him reminisce and makes him almost happy for a change. It is almost enough to let him forget all that’s happening around him, even for a little while.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” Christophe announces then, after their conversation has lulled a bit. “I’m planning on making it to the far lands, or perhaps a little further this year.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen in surprise and understanding. “I see. Then I wish for the spirits to bless you with a pleasant and fruitful journey.”

“I’m sure they will,” Christophe smiles pleasantly, his hand fiddling at his side as he contemplates what he’ll say next. “...I heard you might not come south this winter, so I was thinking… I might see Phichit on my way. So if there is anything you would like me to tell him… perhaps I could be of assistance?”

Yuuri feels his heart clench at the mention of not seeing his dear friend. Yet another privilege that he had not considered would no longer be within his reach. He forces the prickling behind his eyes not to give way to tears, for he is nearly overwhelmed with the gratitude he feels for Christophe for offering to do this.

“W-Well… you can tell him I have been given a mate, I suppose,” he begins, haltingly. “That it is someone I…well, that it is… someone good.”

Christophe touches his hand then and has him meet his gaze; his green eyes glimmer with reassurance. “He is good, Yuuri. Really, he is, and I can and will vouch for him.”

Yuuri blinks, thinking of what the words imply. “You know him,” he realises, and Christophe nods, affirming this.

“I have known him since I first came to the winter lands when I was but sixteen,” he tells him, smiling fondly as if he recalls some very pleasant memories. “And while we don’t see each other too often, I am certain you could find no one better to be your One. But then again, nor can Victor.”

He winks as he says this, causing Yuuri’s face to colour briefly, but he snorts once he sees it for the joke it is. Yet, he is glad that Christophe would try so hard to bolster his mood.

The humour does help, and soon Yuuri has designed a message for Christophe to deliver to his dear friend once he heads south. Not too long after, Christophe departs with a last embrace and clap on his shoulder, and well wishes for his upcoming bonding.

The tent seems oddly quiet after he leaves, and Yuuri is almost sad to have seen his friend only this once for the first time in years. If the situation had been different, he is sure he could have invited Christophe to migrate south with them come autumn.

But he can’t let himself think of that, now. Instead, Yuuri distracts himself from the echoing silence by spending another while working on his arrows.

He finishes just in time for his sister’s return. Her face is red with exercise, hair windswept and clothes soiled with the telltale signs of a hunt. He greets her with a genuine smile which she returns, and while she puts away her newly cleaned tools he enquires about the day. He hears from her that their clan has done well this year; for having such a meagre number of participating hunters, they had put down a good number of beasts and earned themselves a good reputation with the other clans.

“If you had come with us, we would have bested every other clan out there,” she whines briefly, but quickly goes on to tell him more of the hunt.

Victor, of course, has done exceptionally well, and felled _at least_ a ten-count of beasts by himself.

“To contribute to your feast tomorrow, I’m sure,” Mari hums, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I believe it was exactly a dozen. One for every arrow you put in that log yesterday. He can’t let you outdo him.”

Yuuri brushes it all off as his sister’s own misguided speculations, and he’ll never for as long as he lives admit to how his heart throbs at the possibility that she might be right.

-

The following evening, the skies turn dark for the first time since summer began, signalling the changing of seasons. As Minako had said that night near three moons ago, they were to be unified under the blanket of the first darkening.

So while the sun begins its first descent into the horizon since the beginning of summer, Yuuri prepares for his bonding. His father has diligently brushed all the furs he will wear. His mother has tied the many charms that will adorn him into intricate patterns on braided leather strings; they are all carved with signs of health and fortune and are to be hung over his chest and his back for blessings and protection. One of them is the very one his mate-to-be had given him on the day they first met.

While he washes, his sister helps their parents pack away the last of their goods; there is very little of it, for they’ve had a good year and traded most of it for new tools and pelts, of which they will either keep or trade for other wares once they go south.

Yuuko is a welcome sight when she enters the tent, already clean and dressed for the ceremony herself. She has left her children in their father’s care and has come to help his mother dress him with the easily tangled charms and furs.

Yuuri lets them aid him in donning his clothes; they are the best he owns, lined with lovely white fur and sewn with delicate stitching—his father’s hard work. They had been a gift for when he had felled his first Great Elk. The women crown them with the strings of amulets and hang white furs over his shoulders. Not one piece is left out of place.

Once it’s all done and his mother has given her approval, Yuuko offers to braid his hair for him. He accepts gratefully and kneels carefully on his sleeping skin so that she can get to work.

“It’s grown a little over the summer,” she comments as she runs her small hands, strong and coarse from her work, through his locks to untangle them; they are still a little damp from his dip in the river earlier. She hums, considering. “It won’t be entirely like Victor’s, but I will do my very best! He must have someone help him, don’t you think? I don’t believe he can do them all by himself... perhaps you’ll have to learn, then?”

“Mm, perhaps,” he concedes, but feels instantly nervous at the thought. “It seems very difficult.”

“It’s not that different to the strings you make for your crafting. It’s just hair!” Yuuko giggles as he hesitates to answer, but it is not meant unkindly. She doesn’t push further, and instead begins separating the strands in her hands. “I’m sure you will look stunning together.”

Yuuri wonders over this. They are kind words, but not a reflection of reality. Truth to be told, he feels plain in comparison to Victor. Anyone who sees them tonight will be disappointed by how unassuming Yuuri will be standing next to someone like him. His hair is dark as burnt wood, not at all reminiscent of stars or moonlight. Once the sun sinks into the sea, it will blend together with the darkness of the sky, and no one shall even be able to admire Yuuko’s hard work. His eyes, he knows, are brown—like dirt or the bark on the conifers; dull and boring, not at all breath taking in their beauty, like Victor’s crystal blue.

Yuuko finishes her final braid just as Mari peeks her head into the tent to tell them that it’s time. She has already helped Yuuri pack and moved his belongings with the rest of his family’s provisions for him.

Yuuri takes a deep breath before he rises, legs almost gone numb with how long he’s been kneeling there. Yuuko makes him hold still for a long moment so that she can examine her work.

“This should do,” she tells him, pleased. Even his sister gives him an approving look.

When they step outside, his mother is there waiting for them, eyes glimmering with pride at the sight of her son. She gives him a loving smile, which he does his best to return, but with his jittering nerves and what feels like a permanent crease dug into his brow, it must be a painful imitation at best.

Together, they go to the edge of the large camp. They are to head down to the coast where the celebrations are to be held. They meet very few people on their way, as all the other clans have their own feasts and celebrations to attend, but the ones they do meet stare at him long after they pass, and he wonders if all the preparations have made him look ridiculous, rather than dignified and ready for the most important ceremony of his life.

Soon enough, the tents thin out and they see the large assembly of people from the two clans gathered by the shore. There they have lit large fires that illuminate the darkening Summer Bay.

They approach slowly, Yuuri straining to keep his head held high and not let his eyes meet anyone else’s for too long as they pass through the crowd of both familiar and strange faces, all equally focused on him.

By the largest of the fires stands Minako with her trusty elk-headed staff in hand, dressed in the finest of her ceremonial clothes. Her face is covered by a half mask made from an elk’s skull, covered in leather and adorned with antlers to appear more real, more _alive_.

It was a sight that had frightened Yuuri as a child, for when he had first seen it, it appeared as if the kind mother figure he had grown so fond of, had been possessed by a spirit and turned into a half-beast. He had hidden his face in his father’s shoulder for most of that ceremony. Only when she had taken it off to reveal herself had he dared to approach her again. He thought differently of it now, knew more about how the mask aided her link to the Great Elk, their clan’s patron spirit. She would only wear it for the most significant ceremonies related to their clan and clansmen, such as the felling of a great elk, or the coming of age of a young man or woman – and now she wears it for him again.

Next to her stands another sightseer. Yuuri cannot tell for sure, but he is almost certain it’s another woman; she wears a mask, like Minako’s, made from a large bear’s head. She must be the seer of the Bear clan, the one who had shared Minako’s sight.

Not very far away from them stands his betrothed.

Victor gleams in the light of the flames, elegant and beautiful in his garb. On his chest rests the very same amulet Yuuri had given him, nested among many others. His hair has been pulled back from his face, strangely, in a single, tight tie. There is not one braid in sight, and for a moment, he feels very conscious of his own. Yet, he looks radiant at the sight of Yuuri, eyes glittering and lips pulling up into a thrilled smile.

He must be tired of waiting, Yuuri reasons. He must be delighted that they have arrived so that the ceremony may finally begin.

They are to stand with their families on opposite sides of the largest fire. Yuuri’s father is waiting for them there, Yuuri’s gift for Victor held in his hands, and Yuuko leaves his side to go stand in the crowd by her mate and children. Now there is only him, his parents and his sister.

Curious, he looks to Victor’s side to study his family. It’s his first time seeing them, or at least the first time he is aware of who they are, for the first person he notices is his young competitor from the contest two days past. He looks less than delighted to be there, and Yuuri dares not look at him for too long, lest their eyes meet. He thinks to himself that he should have guessed that the boy had some kinship to Victor, for they do share some similarities in spite of their differences in conduct.

Next to them is a redheaded woman he has never seen before. She doesn’t look like Victor at all, and is surely far too young to be his mother. Perhaps she is a sibling with different parentage.

There is also an older man; yet another person he doesn’t recognise. Age has worn his hair and his skin, so there is no telling how similar to Victor he could once have been. He considers whether or not he is Victor’s father, but from this distance, it’s anyone’s guess. The man lifts his piercing, dark gaze to assess Yuuri across the fire, so he quickly looks away, focus waning before returning to the sightseers where his attentions should probably be fixed after all.

Soon, the beat of a drum resounds through the bay, silencing the crowd, and the sightseers begin to dance. They chant and sing in indecipherable tongues as they move around the fire with refined, graceful movements, their steps coinciding with the beats as they slow and quicken. Yuuri watches, bewitched, as they move closer and closer, twisting, twirling and entwining. It is the strangest routine he has seen in his life, with the way they move with each other rather than with the elements only. Soon enough he realises that their dance is not simply a dance; it is a recreation of the vision they have shared, of the coming of the great bear-headed elk.

The drums halt, and the two are frozen in their pose for a long moment, limbs entangled and heads lifted towards the sky. The hum of the last beat still rumbles through the air as they slowly detangle and separate. Once they’ve parted, they turn to the awed crowd.

Lifting her staff, Minako begins to chant in their tongue, while the other woman does the same in a language he doesn’t understand.

“Their union has been foretold. Let it be known that from this day on, Yuuri who is blessed by the Great Elk shall be one with Victor of the Bear clan. They are Children of the North; may there be many more. Spirits guide them through winter and summer, though abundance and through need. Stoke the fires of their homes and in their hearts.”

Minako gestures for him to come forward; at the same time, the other woman signals for Victor to do the same. With a first, halting step, Yuuri forces his body to comply.

They meet in the middle, by the fire, hardly another step of space between them. Yuuri, while looking everywhere but at his mate-to-be, feels the intensity of Victor’s stare on him. It takes him another moment before he dares glance up at his face, but when he does he is surprised to find Victor looking nearly as nervous as he feels, eyes flittering over Yuuri’s face, as if they are uncertain where to linger—on his nose, on his braided hair, on his mouth… and when Yuuri meets his shifting gaze, it stills, blue eyes shining as Victor slowly smiles at him, seeming somewhat… relieved. Elated even, whatever for?

It takes Minako prompting him with a soft cough to shake him out of his stupor in time to realise that he is supposed to focus on the ceremony, and not Victor’s face, however enchanting he may be.

“Yuuri. You may pass your gift now,” she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear.

He fumbles for a bit while retrieving the items from his father who has followed behind him, but, finally, he lifts the fine bow and the full quiver, and holds them up for Victor. His long, coarse fingers, the same ones that had threaded the amulet over Yuuri’s head and lingered over his chest the day of the contest, touch the shaft gently before lifting it from Yuuri’s hands, admiring the polished woodwork.

“A well-crafted tool of Yuuri’s own make,” Minako narrates for the crowd, and then translates for the Bear clan, somewhat haltingly. “May it fell whichever beast you aim for.”

The bow is passed along to one of Victor’s family members—the little boy with the light hair, Yuuri notes, whose attentions are completely captured by the weapon clenched in his hands. Victor then turns to retrieve his own gift from the old man behind him, rolls it out and lifts it up for Yuuri. The crowd gasps in awe and breaks into murmurs.

It is an extraordinarily large bearskin. The fur is dark, thick and lovely, soft under his hands when he reaches out to touch it, and heavy with weight, both in size and reverence. Victor slowly lets it down into Yuuri’s grasp. He admires it for a long moment, knowing that this is very likely from one of Victor’s hunts. He lifts his head, hoping to find something to affirm this notion in the hunter’s expression, but Victor’s gaze is tense in anticipation, searching intently for something in Yuuri. Perhaps his approval. Which is silly, really, for how could he even entertain the notion that such an extraordinary gift would be anything but sufficient?

The Bear clan’s seer narrates the story of the gift, but doesn’t seem to speak their tongue at all, for Minako is the one to translate. “The beast was large, the fight fierce, but Victor felled the foul spirit. Let this be proof that he will protect his mate and his child.”

His father gently prompts him to let him pick the gift from his hands, to fold and put away with his other belongings.

Yuuri lets him, fingers distractedly running through the smooth fur as it leaves his hold, but his attentions are quickly diverted when, suddenly, Victor pulls a knife out of his belt. The flint shimmers and glistens in the light of the fire and in the orange gleam that’s left in the horizon where the sun has now disappeared. A spike of panic instinctively rushes through him, but he forces is down, for Victor wouldn’t needlessly hurt him, or anyone else–at least not in front of all these people...

Victor brings the knife up, and takes a hold of his long, flowing hair where it is tied back. He reaches behind his head...and cuts it all off.

Yuuri stares as the long, shimmering strands fall into a loose bundle in Victor’s hand, mouth agape and his breath caught in his chest. The hair, like the bearskin, is held out for Yuuri, too, in offering.

Uncertain what this means, and of what he should do, his hand lingers hesitantly in the air between them.

“A tradition, I believe,” Minako whispers helpfully from his side. “They believe that the hair on your head is sacred. A show of life and strength in the spirits. This is a sign of loyalty, a promise of his life to you.”

Hearing this, Yuuri swallows his hesitation and reaches out to take the bundle into his hands.

Victor looks… very different now. Older, suddenly, with the youthful charm his long locks had given him disenchanted. The hair at his back, where he had made the cut, is short and uneven. His once long bangs, that had blended seamlessly into the rest of his mane, is now a fringe that falls only to his cheeks and covers his eyes, messily. Yuuri’s hands itch to reach out and fix it.  

Victor seems… _relieved_ when Yuuri tucks the hair away into a pouch at his belt—not at all mourning the loss of the beautiful trademark which people have more or less recognised him by since he came of age.

Yuuri finds it curious; people all over the winter lands, already heartbroken over Victor taking a mate, will be scandalised once they learn of what he has done to his hair. He wants to ask Minako to talk to Victor for him, to know what he’s thinking, if he knows this, but is left stumped when the drums start up once more and the ceremony continues.

The two sightseers step up to them, each carrying a bowl filled a strange mixture. It smells bitterly of herbs and soil, and looks dark and smooth, like mud. Minako reaches for his hand just as the bear-headed seer takes Victor’s. They pull out their own flint knives, adorned with white bone handles, and slice their palms. Yuuri flinches as Minako makes the cut, gritting his teeth while she presses the blood out to pool in the bowl. Once she is satisfied with the amount, she rinses his hand and places a healing leaf over the wound which will protect from illness and rot.

Then, they exchange places, and the bear-headed seer comes to stand in front of Yuuri. She is nearly as tall as him, but the way she carries herself, tall and proud, speaks of someone who knows the importance of her position intimately. He sees, from the skin of her hands, that she is old, even older than Minako; she must have been doing this for a long time. Behind the mask, he glimpses a set of piercing green eyes that seem to penetrate deep into his mind; it’s an uncomfortable feeling, so he avoids meeting them.

She dips her finger into the bowl, and reaches up. Yuuri barely suppresses a flinch as the cool blend touches his forehead. She begins to draw on his face with sharp lines and patterns; out of the corner of his eye, he watches Minako as she does the same for Victor.

Once this is done, Yuuri knows what comes next.

They move closer to one another once the seers have stepped away. Victor reaches up to hold his face, and Yuuri does the same. He feels the pulse of the other’s heartbeat through his fingers on their throat, and almost shivers as Victor’s own scorching touch settles over his cheeks. They shift even closer, and finally, press their bloodstained foreheads together.

He can feel the warmth of Victor’s breath mingle with his, filling the small space between them, but he dares not look up to meet his eyes, afraid that he will see what he truly feels this very moment… yet the sight of his bowed lips and strong jaw is surely just as torturous.

The crowd breaks out into cries of joy and applause. Within the next few moments, every child, man, and woman begins to sing and dance, chorusing and jumping around the fires to the increasing beats of the drums.

When they pull apart, foreheads smeared with both their blood, they too, are pulled into the fold. But Victor has taken a hold of his arm, and is not in a hurry to let go anytime soon, so they are made to move together and join the dance in close proximity to one another.

Victor is a passionate dancer. His feet hit the ground right on the beat of a drum; his many amulets jiggle together as he moves, avid and graceful, like the spirit lights that fill the skies on the long winter nights. He is fire and snow; unforgiving in his beauty.

Yuuri, however, is not to be outdone. He has always enjoyed the dance, ever since he first saw Minako perform one. He has spent many days and nights honing this skill—so many that his teacher would surely scold him if he didn’t perform it properly now, at his own ceremony of bonding.

So he dances, and dances, and lets his body move for him, with him, with the ever-ascending drums, until the dance is all that is left in him. While his vision blurs with movement and firelight, and his ears fill with song and drums, he almost imagines that he hears Victor’s joyous laugh through the haze of sounds.

-

After the ceremony is completed, there is a feast for everyone who has come to the celebration. There is much food, ranging from dried fish to smoked meats, to greens and mushrooms, from roasts to soups; not one guest is to leave hungry tonight. But Yuuri finds it hard to eat anything at all. The heaviness of knowing that these are the last hours he will spend with his clan in a long while weighs on him and churns unpleasantly in his belly.

He would like to spend his time talking to his family, to his friends, but Victor never strays far from his side, and it feels rude to speak with them when Victor is there next to him, unable to understand a word.

Instead they spend most of the time in each other’s quiet company, listening to their clansmen enjoy themselves while exchanging short, nervous glances. While they can’t speak, there is a lot to be said with one’s eyes. And while Yuuri knows so painfully little of his mate, of what he may be thinking or of what to expect, there is no mistaking the air of anticipation that surrounds them.

Once the feast is done, and everyone else is saving the remaining food for later, Yuuri and Victor are taken down to the shore by their families where a boat is waiting for them. Some of their gifts have already been loaded into it, along with Yuuri’s other belongings and provisions from both their families.

Something about the boat makes everything more definite, more final, to Yuuri. He knows this is where he says goodbye.

Victor goes to speak with the old man, who may or may not be his father. The red haired woman and the boy from the archery contest is there, too, as well as another woman who looks nothing like the three at all with long, dark hair and sun kissed skin. They all surely wish the time to bid Victor their goodbyes, so he takes the chance to bid his own.

He turns to face his parents and Mari, and nearly throws his arms around them as he embraces them tightly. They whisper their love and their farewells into his ears, and the longing already present in their voices is a comfort; he knows he will miss them, and be missed in return.

When they finally part, Minako is waiting for him. He doesn’t disappoint, and quickly throws his arms around her as well, face buried into her shoulder as he has done so many times before. When winter comes and the darkness sets in with the loneliness, he wants to remember this.

“Remember what I said,” she whispers to him, a hand stroking lovingly through his hair. “Listen for the spirits. They will show you the way.”

The reminder makes him frown, but he acknowledges her words with a quiet nod.

“Until we meet again,” she tells him as they part.

Then, he is ushered into the boat while both his and Victor’s families push them out on the water.

They each take one oar and begin rowing out of the Summer Bay. He glances back longingly as they grow further and further away, soon to disappear into the blanket of night, knowing that it is not long before they will gather their belongings and move southwards, to the summer lands… without him.

-

The sea is quiet around them, with the exception of water sloshing against the boat and waves hitting the shore they’re following. It’s a vague outline in the darkness of the night, so it’s pointless for Yuuri to look for landmarks or formations that could be of use in recognising their location. He doesn’t know where they are headed, but Victor steers them steadily from the back of the boat. There is nothing to do but trust his mate knows how to navigate them, and knows where they are going.

They row in silence for a long while, as nothing useful can be said between them. With the lack of anything to occupy his senses, with the exception of the dull, quiet sea laid out before them and the rhythm of their oars, Yuuri’s voices keep him company in his head. They spur on images and fantasies while he thinks of his family, his future, and whatever awaits him at the end of this boat ride. Many he would rather not think of, so he grits his teeth and rows on.

It’s a long row.

By the time Victor pulls them towards land, Yuuri’s arms are aching and the sky is already brightening again in the distance, just over the mountains that are slowly beginning to take form. But the nights will only grow longer from then on, until they devour the days completely.

Yuuri has never stayed in the winter lands long enough to see a long night, has only heard of them from others, but he doesn’t doubt their existence. If the days can grow so long that they last an entire summer, the opposite is surely just as likely. Soon enough, he should be able to confirm it for himself.

While the new light does lend him better sight, it will be long yet before the sun rises. He doesn’t see it at first, for it runs neatly into the landscape and shrubbery, but once Victor jumps out to begin pulling the boat onto the shore, he sees that there is a hut there, a good amount of lengths from the waterfront.

He gets out of the boat to help Victor pull it onto land; it is heavy with their belongings, so their combined strength is needed to pull it ashore. Once it’s secured from any weather that might pull it away in the night, Yuuri turns around to take a closer look at the area.

The hut is newly built, but not so new that it has been done quickly or very recently. The walls and roof, logs and stones filled in with insulating earth, are already grown over with fresh, dense grass.

It must have been done earlier this summer. The surrounding site is prepared; there are racks erected for drying skins and meat, and a pit built for cooking outdoors.

While Yuuri explores the site, Victor works on unloading their boat. He quickly and efficiently carries their supplies to the hut; whatever can wait for the morning, he leaves behind. He disappears inside for a moment, untying the large flap of deer hide and pulling it aside for entry. Soon, he hears the familiar sound of fire stones clicking together; the smoke hatch on the roof moves and the light of a fire shines from within.

Victor returns outside, straightens himself and brushes his hands off against his clothes… then, he looks up at Yuuri. An air of nervousness surrounds him, a hesitant smile twitching at his lips, and Yuuri realises he is waiting for him to approve the home he has made for them, the one he has been working on quite possibly since they were first promised to one another.

Yuuri feels conflicted as he thinks on this. He _should_ be pleased that his One has spent long days out here, possibly by himself, creating all of this, just for the two of them—but he can’t ignore the resentful twisting in his chest. However temporary it may be, it must have been a lot of work. And Yuuri has not put down a single stone towards it.

He had always imagined he would, when he found his One, spend long days creating a home for them—perhaps not alone. Perhaps his mate would feel inclined to do it with him, that they’d build it together. Never had he thought one would be handed over to him without any effort on his part.

There is no time for self-pity, though. If there was, he would eventually let his mind wander further, to just how hard Victor had worked to acquire the materials and put them all in their rightful places, from the first heavy logs that raised the hut to the last handfuls of earth patted into the walls—but it feels insulting to keep Victor waiting much longer. He takes a deep breath, and quickly steps past Victor and into the hut.

Surprisingly, it seems a little larger on the inside than on the outside. All things considered, it’s very spacious for just the two of them. About the size of the hut Yuuri lives in with his family when they are in the summer lands. At a glance, everything on the surface, from the entryway to the very back seems to be sturdy and well crafted, unlikely to crumble and fall apart; unlikely to lose heat or let rainwater trickle through. It is all good work.

There is a fire built securely into a pit of stones. A plate of slate covers it, directing light and heat through the breathing holes placed around the top and the sides. The walls are covered with hides and other materials, with some spaces made viable for storing food. There is a collection of both wood and clay pots set to the side, some possibly traded from Yuuri’s own family, and large waterskins hang on the wall; one part of the wall is dedicated to drying herbs, and another, near the entrance, to keeping weapons and tools safe, accessible and out of the way.

Victor has hung Yuuri’s bow there, just above his own spears.

Finally, there is a large space made out in the far end, away from the opening. It is already laid out with several skins and furs, and Yuuri watches intently as Victor brings the large bearskin there and meticulously spreads it out. His hands stretch out the folds and smooth out the dark fur.

Yuuri stops and stares, and something churns low in his belly when he thinks on what will take place on that skin.

Soon.

Victor shuffles in right behind him, watching tentatively as Yuuri’s gaze wanders and lingers. When their eyes meet, he smiles softly, seeming almost hesitant again. It takes a glance and soft gesture around hut, now warming with the fire and smelling comfortably of herbs and earth and leather, for Yuuri to realise he is still waiting for his approval.

He swallows quietly, and tries to appear calm and certain when he touches his own forehead, and then his chest over his heart—a clear message of acceptance of this hut as his home, acknowledging the work put into it by his One.

Victor’s shoulders relax significantly. He smiles brightly and quickly moves to the opening once more, securing the ties of the flap and pulling a rolled up hide from the side to properly isolate the door.

Yuuri watches him work while he struggles to take off his shoes and their covers. They are still soaked from wading in the water while pulling the boat ashore. He puts them next to the fire to be dried and warmed, and remains there to let the heat sink into his chilled bones and sore muscles.

When Victor returns, he puts his own shoes by Yuuri’s and hangs his furs off to the side to dry, too. Yuuri watches him carefully from the corner of his eye as he removes his outer layers, exposing his arms and shoulders, as he had for the contests, and for all the people there. The churning in his belly increases tenfold as his eyes are left free to look their fill of the hunter’s lean back and strong, toned arms, now bared only for their hut, and _for_ _Yuuri,_ who is the only other person in it _._ When Victor turns back to him, he quickly tears his eyes away and stares intently at the burning wood in the pit, swearing to himself that it’s the warmth of the fire that burns across his face.

He hears him move closer, but refuses to acknowledge it, not until he comes up behind him and puts a gentle hand on his hip. At first, he tenses in surprise—heat seems to erupt from that one spot of contact and flows through the rest of him—but he lets the press of that hand turn him away from the fire pit. Soon, the other hand comes to linger on his other side, and together they gently push him to walk forward, towards the waiting bed of skins.

Once he’s satisfied with where he’s got him, Victor gets to work, relieving him of the white furs around his shoulders. Yuuri’s breath hitches as he lets them slide away; Victor catches them before they reach the floor and folds them in his hands, setting them aside attentively. Next go his amulets; he has to move his arms to help slide them all off. Victor pauses when he finds his own, the one with the Goddess and her spear, and lets his hand linger there, a burning weight right over Yuuri’s chest, before he returns to his task of removing them all. They are carefully placed on top of his furs.

Victor keeps undressing him as his heartbeat quickens considerably. Once his torso is bare to the slowly warming air of the hut, he feels a soft kiss pressed against his neck, and then another on his shoulder. Both send tingles shooting up and down his spine, and his breath grows uneven with each one. Victor wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest; he feels a warm expanse of skin pressing against his own, and shivers despite how hot he is feeling. He hadn’t even noticed Victor undressing himself.

Teeth soon join the lips on him, and his neck is ravished _thoroughly_ with harsher kisses and claiming bites while rough hands move to his front, sliding over his trembling chest and then traversing down, down… until the tips of his exploring fingers dip below the waistband of his trousers. His back arches at the sensation and a gasp leaves his mouth, and down there he feels hard… and wet.

He flushes, badly. That sensation is entirely new.

Soon, the strings are undone and his trousers fall to join the rest of his clothes the floor.

He is bared, completely, before his One. Victor can see everything. Every bit of skin, from the tips of his surely pinkened ears, to the toes of his feet, and _every_ part between. The spots on his back. The hairs on his calves. Down _there_ , where he feels like he’s _leaking,_ a wetness collecting between his cheeks, dangerously close to spilling down his thighs.

He remembers thinking it impossible that Victor should even want him, until Minako had implied otherwise. Now, he is tempted to turn around, to see the look in his eyes, to see if it could be true. But he doesn’t dare.

He waits. He begins to shiver as he stands there, shoulders tense and breath uneven. For long moments, Victor doesn’t touch him. There is more rustling behind him, but nothing else.

He feels his stomach sink. Has he suddenly been deterred from continuing any further? Perhaps his queerness has finally repulsed him enough to make him realise he has made a mistake in accepting Yuuri as his own.

Before he can think any further and let these thoughts cloud his head any more than they have, Victor’s entire form wraps around him and presses him close.

He suppresses a flinch of surprise, but can’t stop the hitch in his breath. Victor moves against him, laying more open-mouthed kisses along his ravished neck, biting and sucking at the reddening skin as he sways him softly and guides him down to kneel. The fur of the bearskin feels soft and warm as it tickles his legs.

Victor remains there, right behind him, moaning softly and mouthing at his skin, hands rubbing gently over his hips, his thighs. He can feel it. There, pressing persistently against his lower back, he feels Victor grow harder and larger, and Yuuri knows what will happen next.

So when he feels the hands move to clutch at his hips, Victor rutting slowly against him, he takes a deep breath and leans forward.

He lowers his chest to the ground, the fur brushing against his naked body. He pushes his rear back and submits before his mate. Like this, his face is pressed into the dark fur of the bearskin, some of which is clutched within his clenched hands. He feels somewhat better, hiding his face like this, like he is further away from it all when it happens. He’s heard some talk of how it can be painful the first time, and the many times after, so it is better like this, when Victor can’t see him grit his teeth to bear it, or see him cry if the pain is too much. He breathes out shakily and stills; he has done everything he should. Now all he has to do is wait for his mate to press into him.

But nothing comes.

“…Yuuri?”

He startles a little at Victor’s voice uttering his name so uncertainly—the only word he can say which Yuuri will understand.

“Yuuri,” he repeats, a little sturdier this time. There is a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to turn. He almost doesn’t, but then Victor keeps talking. He doesn’t understand any of it, but his voice is gentle, soft and coaxing, and, slowly, Yuuri lets himself be turned around.

Victor sits there, his expression gentle, and somewhat uncertain, even while his cock is still somewhat hard and peeking up at him; in his hand is a cloth, and next to him is a bowl of water.

He coaxes Yuuri to sit up, befuddled as he is. He watches carefully as he dips the cloth in the water and wrings it. He lifts it up and, to Yuuri’s bewilderment, begins to wash the dry, peeling blood and mud from Yuuri’s face. His strokes are gentle, careful of his eyes and mouth. He dips and wrings the cloth several more times, stoking it carefully over his skin until Yuuri is certain he has cleaned every single bit of it away.

When he is satisfied, he presses the cloth into Yuuri’s hand, and he immediately understands. Fingers shaking just a little, Yuuri dips the cloth in the darkening water, wrings it over the bowl and begins to do the same for Victor. He starts at his forehead, where the smear is the largest, and works his way down to his rosy cheeks and sharp nose. He is as careful of his eyes as Victor had been to his; they remain mostly closed through the ordeal, flickering open momentarily between strokes. Yuuri tries not to meet them when they do.

A drop of water escapes when he doesn’t wring the cloth hard enough; it runs down his throat and over his chest where Yuuri finally catches it with his other hand, just over a peaking, hard nipple. He startles when he realises what he is doing, but Victor only chuckles throatily and puts his hand over his, guiding him to continue.

Yuuri diligently continues to remove the blood from his face. Beneath the blood and mud, Victor’s skin is warm and far redder than he remembers. When he goes to do the other side, he finds that Victor’s choppy hair is in the way. Giving in to the desire he had experienced at the ceremony, he reaches up and brushes his fingers through the messy fringe to push it out of his eyes. To Yuuri’s surprise, Victor groans softly as he does this. He seems to enjoy the feeling of having someone else’s hands running through his hair.

Yuuri puts the cloth down when he finishes, and suddenly feels a little braver than he had just moments past. His one hand still rests on Victor’s face, and he quickly lets the other join it. Like this, he presses their foreheads together in an imitation of what they had done at the ceremony, but this time he looks up. He both hears and feels Victor swallow beneath his fingers, his breathing as shaky as Yuuri’s as their eyes meet, and he feels warm all over.

It is all there, in the rings of his eyes, where the blue has given way to smouldering dark. Something like hunger. Something like _desire_.

 _Oh_.

There is no denying it. Victor wants him; that much is obvious. And Yuuri has never wanted anyone like this before, but in this moment, he wants Victor—in any way he can have him, more than anything.

So he kisses him. He’s not sure if it is something they practice in Victor’s clan, but his One seems enthusiastic in his participation. He licks into Victor’s mouth, who groans and attempts to reciprocate. Yuuri almost laughs when he tries a little too hard; is a little too eager to taste him.

His reply is Victor putting his arms around him and grinding them together. They both moan, as what Yuuri only knows how to describe as pure pleasure, courses through their veins. Victor keeps rolling his hips against him, their cocks sliding and rubbing together, sending delicious thrills of arousal running through him. Soon, this is no longer enough for either of them, so he quickly coaxes Yuuri to lie down on his back.

Victor lies on top of him, between his spread legs where they are splayed wider by his descent, trapping his arms above his head. They kiss shortly while Victor continues grinding against him from this new angle, drawing gasps of pleasure from Yuuri with each roll of his hips.

Hungry for more, Victor starts mouthing at the marks left on his neck again, but this time he continues downwards. Yuuri has never felt anything quite like it, having someone’s mouth on him like so. Being so overwhelmed, he can only gasp for air and let his hips twitch to move against Victor’s, keening loudly when he starts sucking at his chest. He moans and clenches the fur beneath his hands, and Victor’s hands leave his wrists to slide hotly down his sensitive sides.

He is left gasping at the ceiling when Victor moves lower, licking down his body and squeezing at the flesh of his hips and arse. He especially seems to enjoy marking his thighs once he reaches them, biting, and kissing, and sucking marks into them, while his other hand takes Yuuri’s straining cock into his palm and strokes it. The sensation sends new sparks flying through him, very different from taking himself in his own hand, and he groans and begs him to keep going, hoping Victor will understand the intention, if not the words.

Soon a hand strays below him, towards his hole. He gasps, feeling it twitch and spasm against the unknown fingers as they rub back and forth over the convulsing muscle. However, as suddenly as they have arrived, they stop their ministrations and draw away, Victor drawing away with them.

Confused, Yuuri rises onto his elbows to see what’s happening, and finds Victor staring at the slick that covers his fingers in awe. He looks between it and Yuuri, in an almost reverent way. As if the spirits themselves had descended and put him there beneath him. Which they had, in a way.

Yuuri nearly feels embarrassed under the scrutiny, almost wishing he could cover it all up again.

Before he can begin to act on the thought, Victor says something incomprehensible, ending with his name. And then he descends onto him, easily lifting his hips and manoeuvring his legs to go up around his back while he kisses Yuuri _senseless_.

One hand returns to his entrance, which seems to grow slicker by the minute, and two fingers circle it, spreading the wetness around it, before they press in. The sensation is different from anything Yuuri has felt before, and not at all in a bad way. On the contrary, he finds himself wanting _more_ ; he rolls his hips to pull the fingers deeper and whines against Victor’s mouth, feeling his partner grin against his lips.

The fingers move in him for a long while, sometimes thrusting, other times stretching, searching, and always finding new spots that have his vision pricking, and moans wrung out of his throat. One time, they rub so intently on one such spot that Yuuri feels he might burst. Slick spills from his cock and he is left sobbing with sensation, so overcome with it he has to grab his mate’s arm and make him stop so that he won’t go delirious with desire.

He is fingered thoroughly before Victor adjusts them, throwing one of Yuuri’s legs over his shoulder while the other hand guides his length against Yuuri’s rim, swollen and gaping for the intrusion. He is only left a short moment to realise that it is finally happening, that Victor is about to mate him, and a terribly selfish part of him preens that it is _him_ and no one else there, this very moment. Victor presses in.

Everything seems to stop; they both pause to adapt to the sensation. Victor’s breath is harsh and ragged, his frame tense as if he’s straining to keep from moving. Only when Yuuri begins squirming beneath him does he take to action; trying not to slip out, he puts Yuuri’s other leg over him too, bending him in half as he moves down to kiss him while he pushes in the rest of the way.

Yuuri, beneath the haze of arousal, feels a deep, primal sense of satisfaction, feeling the girth of pulsing flesh throbbing inside him; without thinking, following that almost tangible instinct, he twists his hips and spurs his partner, _his mate,_ to act.

They do it like this, half kissing and half gasping against each other’s mouths while Yuuri’s hands tangle with Victor’s hair as he moves into him. It starts off in a slow, unsteady rhythm, more like rocking than actual thrusts, but it grows faster as Victor regains his bearings. He uses his strength as best he can, to hold Yuuri open and fuck into his swollen heat with the same precision and power with which he makes his throws.

Yuuri aches when Victor presses into the same spots he had earlier, only this time he is relentless with it, surely set on a path to destroy Yuuri with his cock, his mouth, his hands, driving in again and again, until he screams, which only spurs him into thrusting harder, hands easily lifting his hips to meet him.

Yuuri, like before, feels the heat building inside him to the point of bursting, but this time he doesn’t stop it. He sobs and clings tighter to Victor, pulling on the hair in his hands, which only serves to make his mate groan heatedly and practically ram into him, the slaps of flesh against flesh resounding through the hut. The pressure builds and builds, and Yuuri isn’t sure how much more he can take when his entire body burns hot and cold and it all bubbles over.

It’s all too much. He loses his voice to a silent scream; his vision explodes into stars and snow, and he feels his body seize and convulse, feels it _clench_ down on Victor to keep him inside; fresh slick runs down his already soaked thighs, and his cock jolts and spits out white and hot from between them. He tips over the edge of pleasure, and only vaguely feels it when Victor follows, groaning and leaking hot inside him.

Yuuri lies dizzy in the aftermath, yet to catch his breath as his body cools from the strain and relaxes into the softness of the bearskin beneath him. When his world stops spinning and he comes into himself, the first thing he feels is Victor carefully pulling away… and something dribbling out of him soon after.

He sits up, still aching, and reaches down to touch himself, wincing at the soreness; when he pulls back, a mixture of his clear slick and Victor’s white… seed… sticks to his fingers and stains the dark fur beneath.

 _This_ , he thinks in wonder, could create life when put inside him; as if his body is responding to the thought, a new gush of slick flows out of him.

Victor returns quickly with clean water and another cloth; he looks at Yuuri with an unreadable expression as he takes the cloth to wash Yuuri’s spend off of his stomach, and, when he sees it’s soiled, he washes Yuuri’s hand, too.

He looks up, briefly, asserting, before he reaches down to touch the swollen entrance himself in wonder, causing Yuuri to gasp and his spent cock to twitch back to life. Embarrassed for his body’s reactions, he closes his legs, forbidding any further examinations. Victor looks at him, wide eyed, and Yuuri stares back; then, he looks down and sees that Victor is growing _hard_ again, and the thought returns that, “oh, he wants me even now.”

Eyes alight with desire, Victor moves close, and coaxes Yuuri to lie down on his side. Yuuri feels his core thrumming with anticipation, feels his own arousal fuelled by Victor’s desire for him, eager and _needy_ for this to continue. When Victor moves to lie down behind him, Yuuri frowns, confused. After all that just now, does he truly mean for them to sleep?

But then he lifts his leg again, and presses his cock against Yuuri’s still gaping hole. It squelches lewdly with excess slick and cum when he pushes in; it must please him, for he moans loudly against Yuuri’s neck, whispering rough, heated words into his ear that he can’t understand but somehow _knows_ are utterly depraved, and he clenches on the cock inside him as he hears them.

They mate again, rougher and harder than the first time; Yuuri’s arms are splayed helplessly at his side while Victor drives into him over and over again, leaving no break for anything but screaming his pleasure and chasing his release, which he finds when Victor wraps a hand around his neglected cock and rubs him into completion.

When they finish this time, Victor pulls out very slowly and immediately reaches down with his hands; he plugs his fingers in and tries to stop the seed from running out, causing Yuuri to squeak indignantly. He glares over his shoulder, and Victor seems to take the hint. He smiles wryly, almost to say he’s sorry; then he reaches for the bowl and cleans him again with gentle, slow strokes, even down at his entrance, which has stopped leaking by then.

When this is all done, he taps Yuuri’s cheek softly with the pads of his fingers, stroking tenderly under his jaw to prompt him to turn his head. Yuuri complies, and finds Victor’s crystal-like eyes observing him, soft and sparkling with something lovely that makes his heart tighten and breath hitch in his lungs.

With a soft smile twitching at his mouth, Victor lets his fingers run in a caress over Yuuri’s bottom lip before he lifts his face to meet him for a sweet kiss over his shoulder. The gesture is so tender and loving it almost makes Yuuri melt.

When they part, slowly, near unwillingly, Victor looks at him again, almost reverently, and pulls the furs over them as he lays down. His arms around Yuuri are heavy, comforting weights, and the warm breath against his neck becomes a steady, lulling presence, as his eyes grow heavy with exhaustion from the long day and longer night.

The fire in their pit is reduced to mere embers, casting the darkened hut in a soft, red glow. The sky brightens further over the mountains, as morning begins anew.

They sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part... is a monster that I didn't manage to finish before my posting date. It's done now, finally!! .................a few hours after my posting date BUT IT'S GOT TO BE the 17th SOMEWHERE right!?
> 
> So, well. It's bending the rules a little, but seeing all the response I didn't want to hold out on anyone. I am seriously overwhelmed that so many people liked this! I've spent the last month really just hating Part 4 so much because it didn't want to be done... but then yesterday and today it was suddenly so easy to pull the last threads together because I really felt like someone wanted to read it. So thank you all so much for your kind words! I wouldn't have been this happy about this part without your encouragement! I will try my best to answer the comments ASAP, you all deserve a personal reply x
> 
> Thank you so much to Squeeze for helping me edit the last parts on so short notice. I couldn't have done this without her.
> 
> If you haven't already, check out the art Morrindah did for this fic after you finish this! Her pieces really capture both Victor and Yuuri's thoughts and feelings so well I can practically read it on their faces. Be sure to follow her for more amazing pieces!! + ELVES
> 
> Again, thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy Part Four as well!!

_Part Four_

-

When Yuuri wakes, warm and content and with the pleasant scent of earth and leather tickling his nostrils, it’s to sunlight glaring through the smoke hatch and warming his face, and to fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin. He opens his eyes and sees the inside of the hut now lit up by the daylight streaming in and the memories of yesterday returns.

He whips his head around and, sure enough, Victor is there, his hair mussed from sleep and a soft, lovely smile on his lips. When his eyes meet Yuuri’s, they light up and his smile widens.

“Yuuri.”

In place of a greeting, one that he wouldn’t understand anyway, Victor speaks his name. Yuuri notices for the first time that he has a strange way of pronouncing it. The sounds are somewhat crisper on his tongue, vowels clear, as if he sings them rather than speaks them. But the _way_ he speaks them, warm and low in his chest, as if it takes all the breath in his lungs to utter them, warms him to his core and carries more meaning than any sort for “good morning” could ever do—far more than Yuuri knows how to decipher so soon after waking.

He doesn’t say anything back, but something must show on his face, for Victor all but beams and pulls him in to press a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead.

Yuuri feels his heart skip and a rush of emotions courses through him.

He hadn’t expected this.

To Yuuri and to the Elk clan, a kiss there, to where the mark of bonding is placed, implies deep affection and devotion to the recipient. It’s an act only carried out between mates, rarely outside the private confines of their home. It is something children and youths whisper and giggle about, and dream of having for themselves. The one time he had seen his mother give this kiss to his father, he hadn’t been able to look them in the eye for days, embarrassed that he had witnessed something so private.

He wonders if Victor knows just what he’s telling him through this one lingering touch; but he doubts it. He knows other clans don’t see it the same way; at the Meets he has seen parents kiss their children there, and sisters kiss their brothers the same way. Affectionate, yes, but the meaning is not the same.

So even though his heart races and stomach flutters, he doesn’t allow himself to think it means what he finds he desperately wants it to.

When Victor pulls away, the spell is broken.

Not wanting him to see just how affected he is, how his cheeks have undoubtedly coloured and how his breathing has grown uneven, Yuuri turns his head and sits up, a little too quickly. He winces as pain springs through his body; he is sore and aching, both from the long row from the Summer Bay and… from the _other_ things they had gotten up to. The ache is deep and familiar in his muscles, similar to how he feels after a long hunt or a hard day’s work, but down there it is foreign and somewhat...unpleasant.

He’s surprised that he’s still feeling it, even when he usually heals very quickly. When he examines his body, he sees the marks left on him are already fading from dark and raw to lighter hues of pinks and yellows. Victor has _definitely_ noticed. Yuuri can tell by the way he has fixed his gaze on his neck, his face expressing both awe and mourning in equal measures.

For a moment, he looks to be contemplating putting new ones there with how intently he studies them, the heat and hunger of last night returning to his eyes. Startled by the sudden change in his mood, Yuuri puts his hand over his neck, protectively.

Victor pauses, then grins, seemingly realising what he is thinking. Eyes gleaming with a bit of mischief, he leans close and begins to kiss wetly at the hand Yuuri has put up to guard himself, laughing as Yuuri startled, pulls his hand away from the sensation.

He leaves one last teasing peck on his cheek, right by the corner of his mouth, then rises to light a fire in the firepit.

He is still as naked as the night before as he leaves the covers of their furs, and Yuuri can only stare dazedly as the sunlight plays over large expanses of pale skin. He takes in broad, strong shoulders, lets his gaze wander down his back and lingers at the muscles rippling as he moves; his arse is firm and quite lovely to behold, perched just above long, powerful legs that seem to stretch on forever, seemingly adding to his height even though Yuuri knows he’s not that much taller than him.

He is bigger, though, in every sense of the word. Unlike some hunters, who hide beneath layers of furs to seem larger and more intimidating, to be more desirable to potential partners, Victor has no need for such ruses. Beneath his clothing he is as stunning as Yuuri could have imagined, well and truly strong in his build. And he has certainly _nothing_ to be ashamed of, as Yuuri can attest to now, feeling a full-bodied flush overtake him when he thinks of just how well Victor had used his assets just last night.

Briefly he wonders if Victor has been with someone before him. If perhaps he’d known what to do from the very beginning because he’s had the opportunity to… practice.

The thought tastes sour in his mouth, and he decides not to think of it further. It doesn’t matter anymore, either way; Victor is Yuuri’s One now, as he is his. There shouldn’t be a need for another. Moreover, even if he were curious enough to ask, it’s not like Victor could answer him.

Instead of pondering the issue any further, he treats himself to watching Victor while he works, either oblivious to his appreciative audience or deliberately putting himself on display. Before long, he has a bit of water heating over the fire and makes it so that they can wash.

Victor tends to him diligently throughout; he helps him wash his back and gently untangles his braids with practiced care, but leaves him to take care of his nether regions himself—for which he is grateful, for the dried mess he finds there is embarrassing enough without Victor seeing it too.

Once they are clean from the evidence of their coupling and Victor has found clothes for them to wear, he plies Yuuri with food. He rips him strips of flaking, dried fish to nibble on while he cooks light pieces of meat and roots that sizzle atop the thin slate plate. When he deems them done, he spears them with a pointed piece of bone and offers them to Yuuri, prompting him to open his mouth and let him feed him. After a moment’s hesitation he tentatively complies, watching his One preen as he chews and moans in delight as the juiciness of the deer hits his tongue.

Victor gleefully insists on continuing to feed him, barely giving Yuuri the time to swallow before another piece is being pressed against his lips. As he chews, he grows concerned that Victor hasn’t made to eat anything at all yet. He continues to indulge him for another bite, but before the next one makes it up to him, he catches the approaching hand in his and gently pries the bone out of it. Victor looks confused for a moment, but when Yuuri mimics his previous actions and offers it up for him to eat he positively lights up, eager to let Yuuri feed him as well. Yuuri, in turn, finds his heart fluttering a little as he watches him devour each bite.

When their hunger is sated and everything else is put away, Victor begins to move around the hut. Yuuri watches curiously as he puts together supplies for a day’s trek and dons his belts and shoes.

Once he’s done, dressed as if he is ready to leave, he looks at Yuuri, still in his tunic only, legs packed under warm furs. His posture is somewhat awkward where he stands, and he visibly hesitates before he speaks a short few syllables, accompanied by a half-gesture that Yuuri can’t interpret.

He isn’t sure what Victor means for him to do.

Or rather, he can’t understand.

He bites his lip between his teeth, frustration tugging at him as he tries to figure out what to do now that their rather comfortable first day together is taking such a distressing turn. They remain quiet, the barriers between them suddenly very visible in the face of their failure to communicate the simplest thing.

Not wanting to ruin it any further, wishing dearly to recapture the playful pleasantness they had shared just moments earlier, Yuuri rises to his feet and kisses him softly. It is quickly reciprocated, Victor pressing in immediately to move his lips against his, hands cradling his head and guiding him to grant a better angle, which makes his cheeks tingle and his heart beat a little faster.

When they part, Yuuri makes himself step back so that he won’t be tempted to pursue it further; he hopes that Victor is convinced to forget the awkwardness from before and that they can move on with the day.

Yet again, Victor doesn’t move. He stands where Yuuri has left him, lips glistening just a little from their kiss, still staring at Yuuri with the same hesitating uncertainty. Waiting.

A tinge of annoyance begins to creep into him, which in truth is only his own frustration that he is not able to ask anyone what he needs to do. He wishes Minako was here, so that she could ask Victor for him and tell Yuuri just what he is waiting for.

Sighing, Yuuri raises his hand and makes a gesture for “farewell”, one that is often used between clans, hoping Victor understands the sentiment; that it’s ok for him to leave and that it’s not like Yuuri will struggle to live without him there if he is gone for a while (and if that is truly what he is thinking, it is mildly insulting, really).

Victor seems conflicted for another moment, but nods, understanding the gesture at the very least. He steps close again and kisses Yuuri’s forehead as he had done before. It brings another blush to Yuuri’s face, all those delightful feelings and wanton wishing resurfacing.

Then, he kneels down and places a kiss on his belly.

Yuuri finds he’s frozen, even when Victor rises and gently touches the same spot with a tender smile. He doesn’t move, even as Victor exits the hut. He takes the boat out, the sound of oars paddling the water slowly fading as he leaves the inlet, leaving Yuuri behind with a questioning hand on his belly… and a day ahead of him with which he doesn’t know what to do.

-

With Victor gone, a foreign emptiness coils and lingers around the hut, stirring in Yuuri feelings of dismay and confusion.

The implication of that last parting kiss had been clear enough. It is the harsh reality of why they are both there in the first place: the one certain event everyone is expecting to result from their union.

Surprisingly, while the reminder had been a little sudden after the slow pleasantness of the morning, he finds it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as his current predicament does.

What is he supposed to do now that he’s been left alone?

There have been no indications that he is expected to do anything at all; no obvious tasks have been delegated to him, and Victor hasn’t given any hints as to where he is going and when he is to return. Furthermore, he is uncertain of just what he’s _allowed_ to do, or even how far he can wander.

He already feels as if his day has wasted away before him before it has even begun. It is a terrible thing, to be made to feel so passive and uninspired. He grits his teeth, thinking that Victor will think him a terrible mate if he is unable to accomplish anything useful at all before he returns. He must do _something_.

With a new, albeit small amount of determination, he sets to work. Once he has located his personal belongings and his clothes, he finishes dressing so that he may go outside. His shoes and coverings are warm and dry from the fire, and he feels far more comfortable dressed in his more familiar garb.

He picks up his trousers from yesterday and carefully examines the back and crotch. They are absolutely filthy with whatever fluids had come out of him, and he decides that he must at least take them with him to wash and dry. They had been a gift from his father, after all, and one of the few things he had to remember him by.

Sentimentality is hardly ever rewarded in the harsh, brutal lands they dwell in, but he feels he can offer himself a little leeway, all circumstances considered.

He sees the cloths they had used in the night and in the morning balled together in one of the bowls, and decides to take them with him as well.

Once he has explored the hut a little further, searched every crack and crevice and more or less memorised where to find essential tools and clothing, he goes outside. The sun is high in the blue, cloudless sky; the air is warm, the soft summer breeze caressing his face and catching in his clothes. The seabirds cry out in the distance and the waves beat leisurely against the shore.

In daylight, the small site is just shy of ideal. It is well concealed from anyone passing by outside the inlet, but still right on the waterfront. The mountains are a fair distance away, providing little shelter, but there are hills close by that provide plenty in turn. A brook springs out from a green wood and runs but a few lengths from the site; the wood thickens into a forest of large, towering evergreens, reaching all the way to the mountain foot. Further away, he spots a larger river that springs out into a bay; plenty of birds have gathered there and he bets there is an abundance of fish migrating through the streams.

 _He chose well_ , he admits to himself and heads down to the brook. He kneels by the bank and begins soaking the clothes, rubbing them together to rid them of stains and dirt.

With his washing done, and hung up to dry in the late-summer sun, he walks around the area and tries to decide where they are. He comes up blank. He has never been this far up the coast before; the hills are strange, the waters foreign, and not even the mountains in the distance are familiar to him—at least not from this angle.

After a short while, he gives up. He winds up back in the hut, arranging and rearranging his belongings, trying to gain a sense of home in these new surroundings. He sets to work separating all the amulets his mother had tied for him for the ceremony. He spends time looking at each one of them, remembering who had carved them and why he had received them, until he comes to Victor’s. This one he holds in his hands for a long time, considering.

It had, in a sense, been his first gift from his mate. He wonders if this means he should wear it. Victor would probably like it, he reasons, but another, angrier voice, reminds him that what pleases and doesn’t please Victor, shouldn’t be his concern or a priority.

 _Shouldn’t it?_ He wonders over this for a while. He is, after all, Victor’s mate now—and Victor is his; and is that not what they should do: attempt to please each other in every sense of the word?

In the end, his thinking gets him nowhere, so he packs the amulet away along with the others, and continues the work of untangling the strings to that they can be used later.

Victor comes back in the late day, after Yuuri has counted all the stones in the firepit for the third time.

He hears the rhythmic splashes of his oars, and immediately goes out to meet him and help pull him back ashore.

His cheeks are fresh with exercise and his shortened hair is windblown from the sea breeze; he looks vivid and beautiful, and smiles happily when he sees Yuuri coming to aid him.

Once he’s ashore, he greets Yuuri with a soft kiss to the crown of his head; the familiarity of the gesture, as if it is completely natural for Victor to already be so comfortable with their newfound intimacy, makes him feel a little flustered. He has to hide his warming face by pretending to be in a rush to bring the catch of the day back to the hut.

With him, Victor has brought a halibut and some roots and grasses that Yuuri recognises as edible. He sits and watches Victor gut the fish, separating the desirable innards from the lesser ones. He prepares it and grills it on the slate along with tasteful herbs and grasses, which he picks from the drying bundles on the walls.

It is a good meal, hearty and flavoursome; once it’s all ready and a portion has been handed to him, Yuuri digs in, not realising how hungry the idleness of the day has left him. He lacks the means of telling Victor how grateful he is, and slips up by telling him “Thank you” in his own tongue. Victor doesn’t understand it, but the sentiment seems to have passed between them, for he smiles just a little wider.

The rest of the halibut is stored away for a later meal, and Victor puts his tools away while Yuuri carefully cleans the hot slate.

When the skies darken once more, Victor approaches him and leads him back to the sleeping skins.

Now that he knows what to anticipate, and knows what Victor is anticipating in turn, it is easier to let his clothes be shed, to lie back against the warm furs and let his mate open him up. Like before, Victor takes his time with him and makes sure he is loose and ready, sopping wet with slick before he finally sinks between his legs and pushes inside with a deep, resonating groan that makes Yuuri reply in kind.

Victor pants against his shoulder, holding still, waiting, until Yuuri takes his face in his hands and kisses him, deeply, spurring him on.

He begins to move, and Yuuri breathes and lets the pleasure from last night find him again. And again, and again.

-

Over the next days, Yuuri struggles with what he believes Victor must be expecting of him.

Their mornings together are as pleasant as the first. He wakes up with Victor’s arms around him, his hold gentle and comforting, accompanied by a beautiful smile, teasing touches and kisses wherever his mate can reach before Yuuri forbids them, lest they turn into more than a bit of teasing. The end of their playfulness prompts them to leave the comfort of their sleeping skins and find something to eat, and their first meal of the day is shared in light moods.

But in spite of how delightful their mornings are, the day that follows is always… less so.

After they’ve eaten Victor dresses and prepares to leave, as he has the first day. When his preparations are complete, he looks to Yuuri with that same uncertain hesitancy, as if there is something...unsaid between them. Something that shouldn’t be left so. Not between mates.

Yuuri takes to following him outside to bid him farewell. It’s an awkward affair, attempted lightened with small smiles and reassuring gestures, but the tension between them is almost... _heavy_ in those moments before his departure. Nevertheless, Victor will give in and leave. Every day, without fail, he gives another, lingering look of uncertainness that surely reflects in Yuuri’s own eyes. And then, Victor comes to him and places a soft kiss to his forehead and another one on his belly, reaffirming the one tangible expectation that exists between them; with a last, halting glance over his shoulder, he leaves.

Most days, Victor takes the boat; he’ll oftentimes row south, rarely northbound. Yuuri once sees him paddle up the large river. Some days he leaves on foot, traversing up and over the hills, but rarely into the nearby forest. When he leaves by boat, he’s often back before sundown; if he goes on foot, he’s usually back even earlier in the day. Only once does he return after dark, which seems to have been unintentional on his part with how sorry he had seemed for it. (Not that Yuuri can or will tell him just how his absence had worried him, or of all the terrible scenarios his mind had created in which Victor never returned at all.)

He brings something back every day, be it food in the form of fowl or fish, or greens, or even other gifts, like smooth rocks and seashells he has picked up from the shore of wherever he has been. Even carved little charms that he gives to Yuuri to keep. Together, they prepare a meal of whatever Victor has brought back, and after their hunger is sated and their equipment is cleaned and put away, Victor lays him down on his bearskin to mate him.

In a way, the pattern is almost soothing, something predictable which he can follow, but for the rest of the day, Yuuri doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

He knows a little bit of everything when it comes to crafting and such, so he reasons, that perhaps Victor wants him to make use of those skills.

So he spends the days doing all the little things he knows. He spins hairs and pulls sinew into thread, carves needles, and sews and mends; he tends to the weapons, sharpening the spear and arrowheads, cleaning the shafts and restringing the bows. He smokes the leftover meat the way Mari has shown him, using the cuts Victor brings, and he dries herbs and berries for teas and ointments, like Minako does. He collects what he finds of edible roots and plants nearby to use for a poor rendition of the travel cakes his father is surely making around now, filled with dried meats, rendered fats and berries, which they will eat on their journey south.

He is certain Victor notices these efforts and appreciates them, but while he always smiles and nods approvingly at whatever Yuuri presents him with, something seems a little off every time, almost as if he has expected something else entirely.

It frustrates him that he doesn’t know what that is.

It doesn’t take long for Yuuri to notice that Victor never brings the bow he has given him on his hunts. Though Victor certainly prefers the spear for hunting large game, he always brings a bow with him as well—and it is never the one Yuuri has gifted him.

The realisation hurts a little more than he wishes it would. He can’t pretend to feel nothing though; he has put himself into that bow. In a way, hoping that it would be out there in the lands, doing what he had designed for it to do, even if Yuuri could not shoot it himself. Now, instead, it hangs on the wall of the hut like a pretty ornament rather than a capable tool—much like how Yuuri feels. Simply living, existing. Residing. Not applied for its true purpose.

The hurt is followed by a bitterness that sours his mood for days. Surely more than the act warrants, but he can’t stop how it makes his head and stomach ache something terrible throughout the day, when he is left to think on it without Victor’s distractions. He refuses to succumb just yet; he grits his teeth and bears it, lets the days and their new habits pass, and tries his best to enjoy what good he finds in them.

Then, one day while Victor is gone, his abdomen pains him even worse than before, in a way that feels somewhat… familiar. When he tries to stand to go brew some tea to help soothe the ache, something slides down his leg. And he realises that he is bleeding.

Something that isn’t his aching belly tightens inside him as it dawns on him what this means.

He is not with child.

The time until Victor returns is spent frantically cleaning his clothes and washing the blood away in the river, and gathering the white, woolly fruits of the cotton plants skirting the hills, while a mixture of relief and terrible guilt wars inside him.

The one expectation he was certain he would fulfil, he has failed. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and in the end, he winds up doing neither. He feels blank and empty, laying down by the firepit with a bunched-up ball of fur pressed against his aching abdomen, trousers stuffed with fluff to stop the blood from leaking through.

It is not made better when Victor returns, bright and cheerful, and with Yuuri unable to tell him what has happened. Instead, it gnaws at him for the rest of the day, tearing at him even as he does his best to push the thoughts away; to eat their meal and pretend nothing is wrong. If Victor notices the change in his demeanour, he doesn’t mention or show it.

Yuuri goes to bed straight away after he has eaten, hoping to fall asleep quickly, or at least pretend it and that it will deter his mate from attempting to lie with him again.

It doesn’t. As he has every night before, Victor takes his retreat to their sleeping quarter as an invitation to approach. He lies down behind Yuuri and begins sliding his arms around him, pausing as he finds he is still dressed in his trousers where he previously would wear nothing. Yuuri thinks that will be it, a clear sign that he is not ready for it tonight, but after a moment of hesitation, the hand continues on its path into his trousers, until Yuuri turns around and stops it.

“Wait,” he gasps, meeting Victor’s startled, crystal-like eyes, wide and questioning. He swallows thickly and struggles with finding a way to tell him he can’t mate with him tonight without actually showing him the proof of his body failing them.

His long moment of indecision seems to do the trick, however.

Victor looks…almost devastated. But he retracts his arm and doesn’t force himself on him. Instead, he pulls the furs over them and turns away.

With his problem somewhat solved for now, Yuuri too should turn around and doze off. But sleep doesn’t find him easily. Although it’s hard to admit, without the presence at his back to lull him into the cradle of slumber, he feels cold... and almost a little alone.

-

Things are different after that.

Mornings are… less good now. Victor pulls back and isn’t nearly as intimate with him as before.

When Yuuri wakes up, it’s no longer to arms cradling him and his mate keeping him warm. It’s more akin to sleeping next to his sister in their parents cramped hut: someone’s presence is there, close and next to him, but not… _for_ him. It’s strange how it has taken him such a short time to grow used to this casual intimacy, as if he’s craved it before he even knew it himself. Perhaps that’s why the sudden absence of it is so notable, so… cold.

Sometimes, Victor is even dressed and has already eaten by the time Yuuri wakes. He’s still kind, all gentle smiles and gestures. If he does rise long before Yuuri does, he still makes sure there is something for him to eat when he awakens, but where he would previously touch him affectionately, brush his hand against his cheek or feed him pieces of fish or meat, he no longer does any of those things.

Even when night falls and they lie down to sleep, he remains untouched. Victor doesn’t attempt to initiate anything again.

So the mornings aren’t good, nor his days, or the evenings. Nothing is good really, and a gnawing voice in the back of his head keeps telling him that it’s his fault.

And in a way, it is. The ache in his stomach disappears and he stops bleeding after only a few days, but even then, he doesn’t know how he can approach Victor to resume their attempts at procreating... or rather, he can’t decide if he even wants to.

It is the purpose of all of this, he knows, and without it, his being here and not with his family, is for naught. All Victor’s time spent here is for naught. He could have spent it finding his One. Someone better than Yuuri, someone he could _talk_ to, someone who could actually give him what he so obviously wants, what he’s told Yuuri he wants with every small, wishful touch to his still flat abdomen…

He should have someone more deserving. He _deserves_ someone who doesn’t wilfully keep him at a distance. Away from his clan and family. Away from a child to call his own.

The guilt is eating him up. He is wasting everyone’s time, including his own. He should be with his family. Not here. Alone. Unnecessary. Useless.

Whatever Minako and the other seer had seen, they must have had it all wrong.

Yuuri isn’t right for this. He isn’t right for _Victor_.

If he was, things wouldn’t be like this. He wouldn’t _feel_ like this.

It does cross his mind to leave. Get up, gather what he can, and go. He’s almost certain that even Victor knows by now, that this isn’t going to work.

Ironically, it is also Victor, strong and lovely and kind Victor, who has only done as Yuuri has asked of him, who still stares at him with concern and hesitancy as he leaves every morning, that makes it so hard to do just that. Not when he can’t even tell him a proper reason why and give him a proper goodbye.

So the days pass, uneventful in his indecisiveness, more threads spun and another hide tanned and another tunic sewn. By now, he’s really just waiting for Victor to decide he’s made the wrong choice, that he’s grown tired of him and his dullness. Perhaps he’ll decide to take him back. Or perhaps he’ll send him off and let them go their separate ways.

But this doesn’t happen.

Perhaps Victor’s dedication to his clan and the will of the spirits is greater than he thought; it certainly is greater than Yuuri’s own. But if he doesn’t intend for them to be parted, what then? How long until he tires of waiting for Yuuri to let him have him again? If he decides to touch him again, will he even be allowed to resist? Will he even _try_ to?

One morning, Victor isn’t there when he wakes.

The first thing he thinks is, _Ah._ _He’s left me_.

It is hard to breathe for a long while and he feels his chest constrict with dread. He has expected this, and he thought he was ready for it, but the shock and suddenness of it has him shaken to the very core.

Only when he forces himself to sit up, eyes already prickling with unshed tears, does he examine the hut and see all their belongings where they had been the night before. There is a pot of trout, roots and vegetables simmering on the dying fire. The sunbeams come down from a strange angle through the smoke hatch, shining down on the entrance instead of on the sleeping skins; it is past midday.

At once, he feels a little calmer. He had slept far longer than usual. Victor must have left already.

He lets out a shaky breath.

He begins to dress for the day as the rush calms in his veins. As he chews on his breakfast, he feels silly and a little angry that he had been so affected. Hadn’t he expected it to happen? Wanted it even? Come to conclude that it was the best course of action for the both of them?

Then why did it hurt so much when he thought it was _real?_

He huffs as he clears out the bowl and puts it aside, letting himself fall back down onto the sleeping skins, sinking into their comforting softness.

Then he thinks.

By now, he knows that all the silly dreams he once had of being Victor’s equal in any way are just that: silly and improbable. Impossible. Winning the archery contest had been nice, elating even, but it had given him false hopes. From the start, they had been given roles to go along with, and no amount of niceness or clinging to fantasies would change any of it. He is only doing himself a great disservice by twisting the admiration he has held for Victor, as a fellow hunter, into a poor imitation of… affection. Wanting. Longing.

He needs to stop his own feelings from getting tangled up in this mess.

He needs to decide if he is going to stay and complete his duties, to his clan and to Victor—or if he’ll leave it all behind.

Leave Victor behind.

“Today _,_ ” he tells himself. “I will make my choice before he returns.”

The silence of the hut gives him no affirmation that what he’s doing is right or wrong. He groans in frustration, twisting around to bury his face into the soft darkness of the bearskin. He inhales, and has to strangle a whine when he finds the scent of heath and leather lingering in the fur. The scent of _Victor_.

He feels a little guilty for how much he’s missed it, but the guilt isn’t enough to deprive him from another, deep inhale. He rolls back over to face the ceiling, gaze tracing the logs and studying the smoke hatch with little focus while his mind wanders.

He’ll make his choice today and he’ll tell Victor; make him understand no matter what it takes. He won’t let his indecision affect him any longer. That’s the fairest decision—for the both of them.

He’s suddenly made aware of noises from the outside.

They are footsteps.

At first, he thinks it must be Victor returning, and his chest seizes for he hasn’t come close to deciding what to do yet, but as he listens more closely… he realises there are more than one pair of feet.

He sits up and quickly reaches for his shoes, tugging them on in a hurry. He leaves the coverings and grabs the closest weapon he can reach for protection. It’s one of Victor’s spears. He steps up to the entrance, and pauses. Listens.

He hears the steps still, too out of sync to be a pair of humans. He is relieved for a scant moment, his fear of thieves and madmen eased, but fright rears its head anew as he considers what four-legged animal would come so close to a man-made camp. If it is a deer, perhaps a little too curious for its own good, he is safe.

But if it’s a bear…

A shiver of terror runs through him. He swallows thickly, clenching his hands to calm their sudden shaking. He has never felled a bear in his life, but he knows it is not something one ventures to achieve alone. Those who do go out to hunt them go in larger parties with the blessings of the spirits at their backs. But if one mistake is made…

Yuuri has heard tales of entire parties of hunters being ripped to shreds by an angered malevolent spirit, and he has seen the damage done to those who’ve lived to tell of it. He feels his knees weaken and tremble as he imagines it: claws digging deep and ripping through a grown man’s belly or tearing through his hamstrings.

If Victor had been there, perhaps they would stand a chance. He has felled them before, the evidence of his endeavour right there in their hut. He would know what to do, to either lure the beast away or to strike it down without any of them being harmed. But alone… well.

He really hopes it’s not a bear.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, releases the bindings at the door and peeks outside.

At first, he sees nothing but the mountain and the forest at its foot, lush and deep, trees waving in the late-summer breeze, glistening green in the harsh sunlight. He hears sea-birds in the distance, hears the gentle waves splashing against the shoreline… and the heavy steps of a creature just to his right.

Startled by the sudden sound, he whips around and brandishes the spear in front of himself, hoping to deter an attack, and comes face to face with… an elk.

It’s a young bull, a calf from only a season ago, surely, not even as tall as Yuuri himself, but still large and powerful enough to stomp down a grown man or woman with ease. His grip on the spear tightens, but the bull must have been frozen in surprise, for the moment he moves its hooves scramble against the ground, kicking up grass and dust as it sets off across the site and runs straight for the forest.

Yuuri instinctively steps out after it, but the weight of the spear in his hand instead of his bow is unfamiliar and deterring. Yet, without thinking, he lifts the weapon and heaves it after the retreating elk with all his might.

The spear misses spectacularly, and the animal disappears into the vast, green forest.

All that is left now is the sound of the ocean, the birds, and of his own, harsh breathing.

That should be that, he knows. He should be relieved that no harm came to him and that nothing was stolen or destroyed. He should laugh about how silly he had been, trying to fell an elk with a weapon he hardly ever uses, and be happy no one had been around to see him embarrass himself. Then he should return inside, continue his crafting, his sewing and his brooding. That’s what he should do.

That’s what _should_ happen.

But Yuuri is a hunter.

The rush of the event is still coursing through him, wild in his veins and loud in his ears. He knows he should not. He knows he doesn’t _need_ to, not anymore, not now that he has Victor to do it for him.

Right at this moment however, there is nothing he wants more.

He takes his chance.

He goes back inside to get his coverings and fastens them securely over his shoes. He takes his time with his belts and strings, every inch of his attention possessed by the ritual of preparing for a hunt. He grabs and fills a light waterskin and makes sure his knife is sharp in its sheath. He pushes his growing hair out of his face and ties it back with a piece of string so it won’t hinder his sight.

Finally, he takes the bow—the one his One refuses to touch—and the quiver from its place on the wall. He checks the bend and the stretch of the string with practiced ease, and when he deems it as passable, he pushes the flap out of his way and sets out towards the forest.

The tracks are fresh and easy to follow.

Especially now, when he’s pursuing the task with such single-mindedness. The sun beating down at his back doesn’t bother him. The heavy foliage of the untouched forest is a yearned for challenge rather than a nuisance. Every silent step is exalting, every breath of thick forest air is a thrill. He hasn’t felt this much like himself, like _Yuuri_ _of the Elk clan_ , in too long.

He stalks the elk as far as it takes. It doesn’t take him long, a half hour at most, before he sees it, grazing peacefully at the bank of a small stream.

With slow, calculated movements, not one sound audible over the trickle of water and the huffing of the beast as it chews, he draws his bow and nocks a swan-feathered arrow, and aims.

He puts it down with a single arrow through its eye.

Yuuri stalks closer to his fallen prey and puts his bow down in favour of his knife. It’s a heavy animal, despite being quite young. Without help, he’ll have to clear out most of the innards if he is to have any hope to carry it back. He sticks a hole through its neck and bleeds the bull out into the stream, watches as it colours in a gradient from dark to faded red.

When a hunter of the Elk clan kills an elk, no matter how large or how old, be it a Great Elk or a simpler animal, any part that is not used or eaten should be burned in sacrifice so that its spirit may pass into the spirit realm.

He can’t start a fire without dry wood in a lush, summer forest. Instead, he digs a hole in the soft bank of the stream. There, he places the innards as he guts the animal, along with bunches of fireweed which he picks from a clearing nearby. On the very top, he leaves one of his own amulets, one made from an elk’s bones. He covers it all with earth and sand, reciting a chant of gratitude and a song for passing as he works.

This way, the elk might find its way to the realms in its entirety.

When only the carcass remains, it is just light enough for Yuuri to carry. Satisfied with his work, he ties the animal’s legs and heaves it over his back. It is still heavy, and he is glad he is not gone far from the hut.

He begins his trek back, a deep satisfaction thrumming in his veins, into his very bones.

 _What will Victor do,_ he wonders, trying to imagine his One’s face when he sees Yuuri with his prey. Will he be mad? Will he be amused? Perhaps he will be disappointed, see this as a slight from Yuuri to his ability as a provider for the both of them. Or perhaps…

He thinks of Victor’s face when he had put the amulet from the archery contest around his neck.

Yuuri decides then. Once he’s seen Victor’s reaction to seeing this elk, he will know if he should stay, or if he should go. Once Yuuri sees him, he will know what is right.

-

When Yuuri finally sees the edge of the forest ahead of him, he hears a voice in the distance. It takes him a moment to realise that someone is shouting his name.

With a heave, he walks a little faster and soon breaks through the treeline.

“Yuuri!” the voice shouts again, and he can see a figure rushing frantically back and forth, around the hut, pausing only to scream out anew, voice almost cracking with what he can only describe as desperation. _“Yuuri!”_

It’s Victor, who has already come back. And he’s looking for him.

There is no room left for even a moment of hesitation when Yuuri calls out for him.

“Victor!”

Victor freezes, then immediately turns towards the forest from which Yuuri is emerging. He thinks he hears him say something then, but it’s too quiet to hear all the way there.

He stops, wondering what that means. Is he angry? Happy?

He swallows drily. _Which one is it…?_

He begins to walk closer, a little faster this time, the elk still a heavy burden on his back. Once he moves, Victor does too.

He all but breaks out into a sprint, crossing the remaining distance between them within moments. When he comes closer, Yuuri can read something akin to relief on his face, and also something...else. He slows his running to a light walk, pausing only a length away from Yuuri, his expression almost unreadable, as if he’s deciding what to feel about what he’s seeing.

The anticipation is deafening, and in the midst of it his exhaustion from carrying his own weight across the hazardous forest ground catches up to him. He feels his hold weakening and his prey sliding down his back, and scrambles to avoid losing his hold completely. Just as he thinks he won’t make it, Victor is there, sharing the burden with him. Together, they ease the carcass to the ground.

Once Yuuri is relieved of the weight, he remains crouched, panting to catch his breath, when suddenly Victor is there, right before him.

Yuuri stills, watching his One warily as he stands, prompting Yuuri to rise as well. They mirror each other, backs straightened and chins held high. Yuuri keeps his eyes on Victor, staring intently as he lifts his hands and takes a hold of Yuuri’s own, still cracked with dirt and dried blood from his hunt.

It’s the first time he has touched him in a long while.

Yuuri winces a little, conflicted as he on one hand wants Victor to keep holding his hands in the warmth of his own, but on the other wants to pull his soiled hands away so that the blood won’t rub off on him.

The dirtiness doesn’t seem to bother Victor, who runs his thumbs gently across Yuuri’s palms, tracing the lines and grooves. He lifts his head and his eyes meet Yuuri’s, wide and adoring, mouth agape with wonder and incomprehensible whispers. He lifts Yuuri’s hands to his mouth and kisses the palms, regardless of the dried blood. Tingles spring out from the spot where they touch.

Victor whispers something against his skin, his warm breath washing over the tingling nerves before he looks back up at his face, lips parted into a soft smile as he tells him something else, his melodious voice heavy with reverence and wonder.

Yuuri’s cheeks warms despite not understanding the words spoken, and Victor laughs quietly as he sees it. He leans in and places a lingering kiss to his forehead.

When he pulls away, Yuuri can’t but return his smile with one of his own, heart throbbing almost painfully in his chest as warmth spreads through him and something wonderful dawns on him.

Victor isn’t mad. He’s not angry or disappointed with him for what he’s done; no, far from it. Whatever he is, it’s not bad at all, it’s something… something _good_.

Very, _very good._

The elk still needs to be prepared; if not done before sundown, or so he had been taught by the clan, what’s left of its spirit begins to waste away, which Yuuri definitely can’t allow to happen after the trouble he had gone through hunting it. With Victor’s help, they easily carry the carcass back to their hut.

They skin and part the beast together while the sun sinks lower in the sky. They light up the outdoor pit and smoke most of the meat there along with some herbs Victor selects from his collection. The hide is strung up to dry and to be tanned, and the small, growing antlers are shorn off the bull’s head. Yuuri will use them to carve amulets for the fire he will build to burn the remains of the bull once there is no use left in it.

Yuuri hums the right songs and chants as they work, but his normally impenetrable focus for the important task is continuously interrupted. There is no denying the tension in the air between them, a sort of excitable anticipation, as if they’re both waiting for something to happen. Across the carcass, Yuuri keeps catching Victor staring at him with a deep longing and devotion that warms him at his core. He feels the sparks as they begin to catch, knows it won’t be long before they will flare up the dry landscape left between them after all this time.

It is so strange, Yuuri thinks, how he had made one choice that day, to follow the elk into the forest, after which so much has happened, all within a half-day.

He’s learned, that even after he has left unsupervised, on a hunt in a territory he knows nothing about, and avoided his One for a long time without any cause but his own wretched feelings; done _everything_ he absolutely shouldn’t have in the eyes of the clans, Victor still wants him.

And _Yuuri_ still wants Victor. The worries that has restrained his own desire have been weakened, some dispelled altogether, and that alone sparks a giddy sort of excitement in him that he doesn’t know what to do with, leaving him a smiling, flustered mess every time his and Victor’s eyes meet. The thrumming anticipation between them increases tenfold each time, spiking deliciously in his stomach before it retreats to a pleasant buzz that keeps him so very aware of every touch, every movement between them and Victor’s deep humming voice as he works the skin off the meat...

That night, after they’ve eaten their fill and have taken turns washing the blood and dirt away in the cool river, Victor approaches him while he is lounging by their sleeping skins, combing his fingers through his still damp hair. Yuuri smiles as he sits next to him, hoping to seem inviting enough for his One to reach out for him.

And he does. With a promising smile, he reaches for Yuuri’s face, cradling it gently in his large, calloused hands and touching him with all the admiration his eyes have betrayed him the entire afternoon… but then he stops, face displaying a sort of hesitancy as he carefully meets Yuuri’s gaze, eyes bright and asking.

 _Waiting_ , Yuuri realises, waiting for him.

Waiting for Yuuri to say that he can.

The gesture is so kind and unexpected that Yuuri is humbled, heart filling with a sudden joy and affection for the man before him—and with the _desire_ to have him right then, right there.

So he kisses him. He surges forward and presses their mouths together, tasting the rich, smoky aftermath of their meal and something uniquely Victor. He drinks in his gasp of surprise and following moans as he grabs a hold of his hair and pulls him closer still, lavishing wet kisses against that wanton mouth until they’re both dizzy with it.

Heat and hunger rushes through him as he mouths at Victor’s jaw, nibbles at his neck and breathes in deeply, savouring the scent he has craved from the pale, lovely skin there. He continues down his chest, feeling his pulse thrum through his veins, the thumping of his heart against his lips as he coaxes Victor to lie down on their skins, instead of the other way around.

His silvery hair spreads out behind him like moonlight streaming through the dark fur of the bearskin. He is beautiful—mouth kissed red and obscenely wet, chest flushed and eyes glassy and wanting, trousers bulging with proof of his desire, for this, _for Yuuri_.

This is what he wants tonight—to have Victor here, beneath him, writhing and moaning in pleasure and wishing to be nowhere else but here, with him—although, his confidence is halted by his uncertainty regarding how to go about it. Victor is not blessed, after all. He cannot easily take another man the way Yuuri can.

Victor seems to notice his conflicting deterrence, but is not, to Yuuri’s surprise, put off by it. Instead, he catches Yuuri’s face in his hand and gives him an encouraging smile, thumb rubbing across his flustered cheek.

With an alluring, hungry glance that makes Yuuri’s breath catch, Victor leads him to both feel and watch as he slides his hands down his chest, fingers trailing teasingly over his nipples and all the way down to his waistband. Yuuri can’t but gasp as Victor’s clever hands quickly undo the ties and dive down to pull out his cock. He gives it a few testing strokes, making Yuuri keen and grow harder and fuller in his lover’s hands, open and responsive to his touch, before releasing Victor’s own aching hardness from the confines of his clothing. Once they are both bare, he spreads his long, lovely legs and gently prompts Yuuri to slide down between them. They both moan as their most sensitive parts brush together, Victor’s hips shifting to coax him to continue.

Yuuri does as he’s bid, encouraged by Victor’s eager response to keep rubbing against him. Victor sighs breathily when Yuuri puts his hand around them, voice hitching a little as he squeezes the head just so. He lets his own hand join in, and soon they’re both slipping down the slope that leads to the edge of pleasure.

Yuuri can’t look away: Victor is stunning in his rapture, all breathy moans and sighs, so beautiful where he lies spread out beneath him, his crystal-like eyes clouded with ecstasy and never leaving Yuuri’s. They squeeze shut only when he stills and spills between them, a broken moan on his lips as pleasure shudders through him.

When it’s over and Victor has regained his bearings, he glances down at Yuuri’s still aching cock. A small smirk on his kiss-bitten lips, he looks mischievously up at him and then resumes rubbing him off with a newfound dedication to the task. Yuuri gasps and feels the pressure rebuild, quickly, but more than that, he feels both his cock and his entrance leak heavily already, and before he can think more of it, those clever fingers from before are sinking into him, rubbing in quick motions against his quivering insides—and it seems that’s what it takes for Yuuri to follow his One over the edge, vision whitening and dick leaking to add to the mess already on their bellies.

The urge to fall down is staggering, but he has enough sense about him still to avoid collapsing on top of his mate. He rolls over to the side and breathes in the afterglow of their orgasms, the intensity still rushing through him, body and mind. He feels raw and bared, his emotions smouldering him with their fervour.

He only notices a few moments later, when he has regained some sense, that Victor has moved over to his own belongings, searching through a pouch from which he pulls out a pot sealed with leather bindings. When he opens it Yuuri sees that it’s filled with tinted… oil.

Liver oil, most likely, possibly the one he had been awarded at the Meet for his success in the contests. It’s a valuable item, very good for lighting torches should you need to venture out in the dark, but he doubts that Victor is planning to go outside, right now, without a strip of cloth on his enticing, naked body after such an intense experience with his mate. _He wouldn’t leave, now, would he?_

He is right, of course. Instead, Victor returns to their sleeping skins with the now opened pot, smiling reassuringly in the face of Yuuri’s unsettled expression. With it, he lays down and reaches between his own spread legs, fingers glistening with oil, and Yuuri feels blood rush to his face, and to his cock, as he slowly realises what he is doing.

He watches enraptured as the first finger slips inside.

It takes more work and more time than with Yuuri, whose body is made to ease the intrusion, to open up and to take—and, judging by the strained focus on Victor’s face as he slides a second finger, and then a third in with the other, it must be more... uncomfortable. But he doesn’t stop. He pushes on, because he wants this, wants it _with him_. Yuuri’s heart thumps in his chest as he thinks this, flushing pleasantly, aching with both gratitude and want. His cock twitches and feels a little heavier between his legs.

When Victor pulls out to add more oil, Yuuri reaches out and touches his face; he lies down by him and places encouraging kisses on his temple, his cheek, his mouth. Victor sighs appreciatively, leaning into the touch while he slides another finger inside himself, thrusting and spreading them, loosening up for Yuuri.

He feels a nervous twinge in his belly when Victor pulls his fingers out and shifts their bodies around. He spreads his legs further and coaxes Yuuri back on top of him, gripping at his base to guide him inside.

If not for Victor’s assuredness, Yuuri’s own doubts that it would work would probably have won out. In the end, it takes a few tries and some frustrated embarrassment, his cock sliding around awkwardly with his unwillingness to put enough pressure there to breach, but eventually it works. The head pops past the clenching rim, and he slides into Victor until there is nothing left to go in.

It feels incredible. It’s warm, soft, slick, and he is beginning to see why Victor would always stop and wait once he is inside. The urge to move is nearly overwhelming, and it takes him a long moment of simply breathing and savouring the warmth around him, below him, in his arms, before he regains enough sense to check on Victor, to see if he’s alright.

Beneath him, Victor is flustered and breathing, adjusting to the feeling of Yuuri inside him. When he sees Yuuri staring, he reaches up and touches his cheek, his blue eyes gone dark and filled with deep yearning and the reflection of firelight.

 _He’s beautiful_ , Yuuri thinks not for the first time that night. He belatedly realises he must have said it aloud, for Victor snorts and tells him something in return, smiling joyfully as if he might have understood just what he had meant.

Tentatively, and a little embarrassed, Yuuri smiles back, chuckling lowly as he thinks how silly they must seem: him mounting Victor, not at all productive for the task they should be fulfilling, both of them laughing quietly as if they’ve just shared a deep, wonderful secret.

Victor retracts his hand from his face and slides it down his neck, over his breast and down his side, leaving him shuddering as a trail of fire ignites with the touch, until it comes to rest on his hip. There, Victor pulls on him, coaxing him to begin.

It’s a long slide out and back in, Victor’s warm insides clenching tight and relaxing around him as he works slowly, trying to mimic the way Victor would fuck him the best he can, watching his face intently for any sign of discomfort.

He is still worried that he will somehow hurt him in his inexperience. But Victor keeps encouraging him with high keens of pleasure and breathy whispers of his name on his lips, hips moving and spurring him on as if he really, truly enjoys having Yuuri in him.

Feeling a little more confident, he gives a particularly hard thrust, excitement bubbling through him as Victor practically mewls and arches into the feeling. He picks up his pace then, delivering a series of deep, powerful thrusts, and then quick, shallow ones that have Victor keening and quivering against him, to his growing delight. His hips are aching with the strain, but he can’t be bothered when it is _him_ making his mate feel this way, making him moan and shake in the throes of pleasure, the same and yet so very different from before.

He wants to tell Victor how good he feels, ask him what he likes, how Yuuri should fuck him to make him come. He’ll have to find out for himself, he knows, and he throws himself into the task with conviction, testing every angel until he finds the one that has his One short of breath. The sounds grow louder, their moans and the slapping of skin as they meet filling the hut, and Yuuri feels himself getting closer, cock aching and slick running down between his legs, down his sack, some all the way down to where he’s connected to his One.

A hand around his weeping cock is what it takes to bring Victor to completion with a litany of “Yuuri, Yuuri, _Yuu-ri_ ” on his lips. That, in turn, is all it takes to bring Yuuri after him, spilling inside as his One clenches tightly around him.

This time, the act and the toll of the day catches up to him. He wants nothing but to lie down, Victor reflects the sentiment it seems, by the way the man lies leisurely beneath him, breathing evening and eyes already drifting closed. He looks wrecked, sated and gorgeous, even in his messy state, and Yuuri quietly feels satisfied that _he_ is the cause of it.

Only when he catches Yuuri staring does Victor move. He finds it in him to grin sleepily and carefully sit up to reach for a waterskin.

They only find just enough energy to share a drink of water and to clean up the worst of the mess left on their bodies before they tangle together beneath the furs and drift off in each other’s arms. Yuuri’s last thought as sleep overtakes him is that he feels warm and content… and happier than he has been in a long time.

-

When morning comes, Yuuri wakes before Victor, which is… unusual. He supposes the strain that comes with the return of their more nightly activities must have knocked his mate out a little too hard.

But he finds he doesn’t mind, rather finding it somewhat refreshing to be the one to rise first for a change. He admires the man as he sleeps, free to drink his fill without the embarrassment of getting caught staring.

Victor looks as beautiful in the exposing sunlight as he does in alluring firelight when the skies have gone dark. His hair is so light it almost shimmers, a stark contrast against the fur beneath them. A dusting of freckles Yuuri has never noticed before covers the bridge of his nose, and his normally gleaming lips are a little dry from sleep.

He remains like so, staring and searching, discovering new things about his One to admire, until Victor’s breathing changes and his eyes flutter open, and once they find Yuuri they shine blue like the summer skies and a wide smile spreads over his bowed lips and he says, like he had that first day,

“ _Yuuri._ ”

Yuuri smiles back, and tells him, in return, “Victor.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a happier man, and his chest tightens as their smiles seem to grow impossibly large until they’re both grinning stupidly and leaning in to let their foreheads touch softly. It is like a river of sweet happiness has sprung free and bursts out from his chest, leaving him giddy and grinning even as they part again. Going by the joyous look on Victor’s face, he must feel much the same.

As they go about their breakfast, eating out of each other’s hands while Yuuri is more or less in Victor’s lap, legs tangled together and soft kisses exchanged between bites, Yuuri feels like something has changed between them.

_And something has._

When Victor prepares to leave that morning, he lingers for a bit by the entrance, even as Yuuri has come behind him to follow him out and see him off. He pauses for a long moment, staring intently at the unlatched opening, then turns, shoulders squared and a confident determination shining through his expression as he brushed passed Yuuri and back into the hut.

Within moments he has found Yuuri’s clothes for him--his trousers, tunic and belts--and pushes them all into his arms, gesturing for Yuuri to dress.

While a little surprised by the sudden, pushy behaviour, Yuuri does as bid, fastening his belts and his shoes and their coverings, and once he’s done Victor is there, holding out his bow and his quiver for him to take.

He fastens them, head spinning with not-quite-there thoughts, and lets Victor lead him outside.

Together, they take the boat out. Once it’s on the water, Victor ushers him into the bow and pushes them out all the way, water sloshing against the sides as they paddle their way out. Victor guides them as they row across the gaping inlet and out into the fjord, and towards the shore on the other side. There, they jump out and tie the boat to a rock.

When their tools are equipped again, Victor gestures for him to follow as they scale the grassy hills. He has him keep quiet as they walk.

Yuuri has his suspicions that they are hunting. For what, he doesn’t know, but it soon becomes abundantly clear to him when Victor lowers to a crouch as they near the top of a low hill.

On the other side, they come upon a herd of mountain deer grazing peacefully on the plain. It is a decently sized herd of some and four ten-counts of animals, enough so that any nearby clan should be keeping track of them as they migrate back to the mountains. But there’s just Victor and Yuuri.

Perhaps Victor has indeed been following the herd, for he had known exactly where to find it.

The spot they have chosen is perfect. Yuuri’s fingers twitch by his quiver, eager to reach into it and nock an arrow.

Victor crouches down behind him. He tenses instinctively as a hand lands on his bow arm, pulling on it, but he relaxes and lets his One put an arrow in his one hand and guide him to lift his bow and aim for a deer. Victor murmurs something softly so not to alert the herd, just as Yuuri’s other hand comes up with the arrow and fits it into its place; he relaxes his shoulders and pulls the string. With Victor’s breath against his neck, his presence a comforting warmth against his back, Yuuri lets the bow sing.

It strikes true, and the herd sets off, leaving only an old, calf-less doe bleeding from its head wound on the ground they had occupied.

Victor turns to him and kisses his hands—kisses them as if he were the Goddess of the Hunt herself, reborn into this realm.

He understands it then. Victor _wants_ him to hunt with him. Has perhaps wanted it since he first saw him shoot in that contest.

For some reason it had never occurred to him that he would. The realisation, of course, makes sense as he thinks back, but moreover, it makes him incredibly happy.

His chest tingles, bubbling up in excited joy for where he is now, _hunting with Victor_ , whom he has so long admired, and a sense of déjà vu washes over him as he dares to think how this is all his dreams coming true.

-

He is amazed at how efficient Victor is when they part the deer to bring it back. They communicate with soft gestures and work efficiently to complete their task. They are home not long after midday, with enough food in their stores to last them for another week or so.

Yuuri boils a broth of their deer and several different roots and vegetables he has picked previously from the outskirts of their site. While the meat cooks and Yuuri stirs the broth, Victor gestures up to the hills with an excited grin and makes to scale them, disappearing behind the tops for a bit. Yuuri is left to watch their food, occasionally glancing up at the tops. It doesn't take too long before Victor returns, hands clutching a pouch filled with… something.

When Yuuri looks at him with a curious frown, he preens and opens the pouch to show him its treasured contents. He is positively surprised. Victor has filled it with large, gleaming sun berries, plump and orange with juiciness.

After their hunger is sated by Yuuri’s broth, they sit down as they had at breakfast, Yuuri more on top of his mate than next to him. They put the pouch between them eat the berries slowly, savouring their tart sweetness—a treat that the winter lands seldom give to those who dwell there.

Victor pops one plump fruit into Yuuri’s waiting mouth and licks the juice left on his fingers. Yuuri attempts to do the same, lifting one fruit up to pop passed his One’s glistening lips, but Victor takes a hold of his hand before it can retreat and sucks all the juice off his finger in a slow, deliberate manner, eyes hooded and focused intently on Yuuri’s warming face.

Satisfied with his reaction, Victor pulls back and puts another one between his lips, and immediately kisses him, the berry still between them. It is crushed in the kiss, it’s sweet juices lapped up by tongues equally eager to taste the sun berry and to lick into the other’s sweetened mouth.

The berry is devoured between them, but Victor doesn’t pull back this time. He licks the sticky juice from the corner of his lips to where a stray drop runs down his chin, apparently interested in devouring more than just sweet fruits...

Soon enough, the arousal in the air thickens.

It is not yet evening, but neither of them can wait any longer. They put the berries aside and undress in a hurry, eager to come together and mate again, but this time feels… different.

With the recent elations he’s experienced with Victor, Yuuri feels far more confident in his actions and in his pleasures. He has been learning what he likes and how he likes it, which angle feels better and how much force he wants put into it to feel like he’ll melt against their furs and spill over the floor in their hut.

This time, he is taking control. Before Victor can even attempt to lay him down, he climbs into his lap, pressing kisses into his mouth and relishing in the surprised gasp against his lips before he slides down onto Victor’s thick, pulsing cock with a long, keening mewl. It’s an easy slide, for he’s already dripping wet, but Victor’s base still stretches his rim impossibly wide as he sits down, breath hitching with how good he feels, how _full_ he is.

He rides him hard, outright bouncing in his One’s lap until his thighs burn with the exercise and Victor’s fingers dig into his hips. He keeps his eyes intently on his face to assess what he likes the most, what makes his hips stutter just a little, which looks make him growl and slam Yuuri down a little harder until they’re both wrecked with pleasure.

He grows tired soon, but he still feels his stomach coiling and his desire building, slow and steady as he keeps moving. Before he can reach his peak like that, Victor slams into him as he rises and tumbles him onto his back, a wicked grin on his face as he gasps in surprise and is then breached again, brutal and sudden, left to do nothing but writhe and cry out as Victor thrusts in with his overwhelming size and strength.

His orgasm is violent and explosive, and Victor fucks him through it, stopping only to _grind_ against the one spot until he’s overstimulated, writhing and spasming and unable to get a word out that isn’t broken syllable of his One’s name, and Victor surely _loves it_ for he won’t let up, keeps going until he shakes apart anew, his cock drooling lazily, but his insides clenching and convulsing around the length inside him until his vision whitens and he plunges into darkness.

When he comes to, he is already cleaned, drifting dazedly beneath the furs with Victor’s arms around him, his One whispering soft nothings in his ear, lips brushing soft kisses to his face.

Things change even more after that.

Victor still goes out on his trips most days, but every time he provides Yuuri the chance to join him.

In the beginning, he follows Victor every day on whatever errand he has decided to go through with. Soon, though, there are days where they go their separate ways and meet back at their home later in the day.

Yuuri, for one, doesn’t enjoy the fishing; he isn’t patient enough for it, so when Victor takes the boat and the hooks, he usually goes to look for birds or larger game, or busies himself with other things.

While a grown deer usually lasts them around a week for food, and the meat can be dried and stored for later, the skins will be important come winter for trade and for keeping warm. Oftentimes, if you haven’t been successful in your foraging, your more successful neighbour will trade your extra layers for a piece of theirs.

Victor is not at all wary when Yuuri decides to go off on his own as well, but is not very subtle in his preference to remain by his side. More often than not, it is now Victor trailing after Yuuri when he grabs his bow to go out.

They sometimes cross the fjord to see if the herd has travelled much further. Other times, they go to explore the larger river that spills out into the cove, to see what game or plants they might find there.

One day, when it is rather warm for late-summer, they simply paddle the boat up the stream as far as they want and float back down with it while Victor attempts to catch river fish. It’s a lovely sort of activity, which Yuuri spends dozing off against his One as Victor reels in and throws out the line. When he grows bored of it, he lets his hands wander a little, which leads to Victor pausing and reeling in his line as quick as he can without tangling it once Yuuri presses a hand to his crotch. (Their little misadventure leads to the boat toppling over and Victor’s favoured hooks disappearing in the stream, but they are too busy coughing water and laughing themselves hoarse with the silliness of it all to care much for it.)

They still come together, every night. In the bliss of it, Victor often talks to him in his tongue, but Yuuri finds he is beginning to recognise some words as they become more frequent. They feel like endearments, like Yuuri is something precious.

Their communication improves significantly when they one such night begin pointing and naming the things in their hut, attempting their best to mimic the other’s pronunciations. The naming game carries over to their bodies, and Yuuri will never forget how lovingly Victor looks at him when they exchange the words for “eyes”. (He will also never forget how ridiculously funny it is to hear his mate butcher the word for “cock”, which he had him repeat several times while sinking into hysterics.)

They carry the game into the chores of the days as well, and soon everyday things become a lot easier to communicate with both words and gestures available to them.

For the time being, it all seems so very perfect, but as the newness begins to fade into normalcy, Yuuri realises that there are still things and gnawing thoughts that stir worry in him.

Not for the first time, he wonders how long they will stay for, at this place. While the days spent in such ease are lovely, he knows that they have not prepared enough to last a winter here, by themselves.

He is waiting for Victor to take him back to the Bear clan, but he knows Victor is waiting for something as well…

For him to take, Yuuri knows. It is not hard to tell. It’s in the way he still kisses his belly before they go their separate ways for the day, in how he’ll rub his hand over it every night when they drift off to sleep.

But in spite of the changes in what he feels with Victor, he feels no changes within himself. No physical ones, at least. They do it so often, in every manner Yuuri had imagined possible and then some, yet nothing seems to be happening inside him...

The nights have grown quite dark now, and the air chills with the increasing absence of the sun. They are running out of time. They will have to leave to join the Bear clan before the snow falls.

And then, one night, when Yuuri goes outside to relieve himself, he looks up and sees the moon.

It’s round and bright, almost yellowish in a sense. The first night moon since the long days ended.

And he knows. This very evening, Minako dances in the summer settlement to ask the spirits to guide them on their journey to the summer lands.

Come morning, their march will begin.

Even though he has known, there has still been that tiny glimmer of hope… hope that, somehow, he would get home in time; hope that is now brutally extinguished by the reality of it all.

Come morning, the Elk clan marches south, and Yuuri will not be with them.

-

Victor must notice it, that morning, how his mood has changed significantly.

“Yuuri.” He speaks his name when he doesn’t move to rise that morning. The word has become their greeting, an endearment, an all-word that holds so many meanings between them.

Yuuri murmurs his reply, a near incomprehensible “Victor” spoken against the bearskin, and falls silent again. Luckily, Victor leaves him be then and he drifts off again while his One cooks up a meal for them on his own.

He eats, but his appetite is lacking.

Victor attempts to lighten his mood again after breakfast by inviting Yuuri to come hunt with him, but Yuuri burrows further into the furs at the prospect of moving.

Victor calls for him again, and begins to make a show of shooting imaginary arrows, using various expressions, grimaces and short words to express some sort of tale, perhaps hoping to bring him to laugh. When this, too, fails, Victor resorts to laying down with him, face to face, even as Yuuri refuses to look up.

For a while, Victor does nothing—then he leans forward and kisses his nose and says the words for it, in his own and in Yuuri’s tongue.

“Eyes,” he says and kisses his lids. “Cheek,” he continues, but it sounds something along the lines of an entirely different word. Yuuri’s lips twitch a little, but Victor notices and giggles.

“Mouth,” he murmurs, and kisses him full on the mouth. He keeps it chaste and doesn’t attempt to deepen it, but moves along to his jaw.

“Chin,” he says, and kisses it too. “Throat. Neck.” He spends a long time there, causing Yuuri’s breath to hitch as he begins sucking at the sensitive flesh there.

Then, he moves further, over his shoulders to his chest where he stops, lingers, placing his lips right on his breast, and holds them there. “Heart.”

As if in response, Yuuri feels his heartbeat quicken, and Victor must hear it too, for he smiles adoringly up at him.

Then his grin turns wicked, and he begins quickly nuzzling his ways down Yuuri’s stomach while singing, “ _Cock_ —cock, cock, cock!” causing Yuuri to squeak with laughter, but he quickly grabs a hold of his mate before he can get so far as to actually kiss his cock.

“No stop, _Victor_ ,” he breathes, holding him in place by his head, making sure he’s looking at him. “I—just, not _now_. Please.”

The playfulness falls from his face, but he doesn’t push back. After a moment, he nods and rises out from their bedding.

Yuuri watches him as he dresses, but they don’t say anything.

“Yuuri,” Victor calls again before he leaves. He kneels down and presses his regular kiss to his mate’s head, then touches his own chest and says, gently, “Heart.”

Yuuri feels his chest grow tight with the gesture, but knows not what he can say in return. Instead he watches Victor leave in silence, and turns back to snuggle into the furs, wanting the day to be over already.

-

Victor returns earlier than Yuuri had expected. Not that it would have made much of a difference, since all he’s measured up to do is boil water and wash. And reminisce of a past where things were much simpler...

Victor looks at him, his usual bright smile tinged with concern. Something in Yuuri twinges with guilt that he has made his dear mate worry so.

Victor hasn’t brought fish or meat today. Instead, he’s brought black crowberries from the hills. With it, he sets about brewing a drink with the rest of Yuuri’s water. He has never really had a taste for crowberries, but the twinge of guilt that still lingers makes him reach for the cup when Victor hands it to him. He sips the drink carefully, suppressing a wince as the bitterness hits his tongue. Aside from that, it is not unpleasant.

He finishes the drink under Victor’s watchful eyes, lips tinged red with the juice of the berries. Victor reaches out to wipe his mouth with his thumb, and he sees him swallow as he does this… but he doesn’t initiate anything else.

Instead, he pulls something out of his belt and holds it out for Yuuri to see.

It is a comb, newly carved from a piece of flat bone. As if to emphasise his meaning, he gestures to his hair.

He seems unnaturally tense for the triviality of his request, to comb Yuuri’s hair. For it does seem trivial, especially considering the other things they have gotten up to without any such request.

But he remembers the ceremony and thinks on how the moment when Victor had given him his hair had probably been when his mate had shown most wariness. Minako had said that the Bear clan valued the hair on their head as more than just that.

So perhaps, to Victor, asking this of him means far more than it does to Yuuri.

When considering this, the request suddenly feels far heavier than moments before. Yet Yuuri nods, slow but certain, and Victor seems to brighten at once.

He takes the comb and settles behind Yuuri, prompting him with familiar, guiding touches to relax into his hold. At first, there are only hands in his hair, slowly stroking it and gently untangling the messier parts. Fingers massage into his skull, and Yuuri feels a calm settling deep within his core at the ministration. He sighs softly, and Victor hums, pleased at his response. Soon, a soft tune rumbles deep in his chest, lulling Yuuri further into the tranquillity of the moment.

 It is a long while before Victor brings the comb through his hair, but by then it is a welcome touch, the teeth dragging smoothly through his locks and scratching gently at his scalp, pulling it wherever Victor pleases. Before he knows it, the repetitive motion is lulling him into closing his eyes and drifting away in his One’s tender hold.

When Yuuri comes to, the hut is already darkening.

Victor has put the comb aside, but his arms are still around Yuuri, hands tangled into his hair. His stirring has awakened his mate as well, who shivers at the chill that has settled in the room. He gives Yuuri a longing look and places a soft kiss to his crown before he untangles himself and rises to relight the fireplace.

Yuuri watches him work until he has a roaring fire going.

“Victor,” he calls when he’s finished. His mate turns to look at him, asking. He swallows and reaches for the comb where it lies. “Come…please.”

The way his face immediately brightens with overwhelming joy and longing has Yuuri stunned with an intense wave of affection for this man he has come to be one with, and he feels as if a piece of himself falls back into place when Victor settles before him to let him run his hands and comb through his short, silvery hair, and a thought finds its way to him that even if he’s not where he had wanted to be right now… he is not lonely.

No, never lonely. And no matter how hard he tries, he cannot feel truly unhappy—not here, when he’s with Victor.

-

Yuuri feels a lot better the next day. The weather is unkind however; the winds have picked up and the rain comes down in a torrent from the darkening skies. Once they have secured their belongings and brought what they can inside, or under the cover of the overturned boat, they use it as an excuse to spend the day in their hut, lounging in each other’s arms while the fire grills pieces of meat and roots, and Minako’s birch-tea recipe boils in its pot.

They pass the time exploring each other thoroughly, learning of new spots and moves that often are bypassed in their more passionate trysts. Victor teaches him how to use his mouth on him, his hands guiding his head to keep him from taking him further than the back of his throat, no matter how Yuuri yearns to attempt it. It is however immensely satisfying to watch his mate as he comes undone under his lips, his name whispered as a prayer when he twitches and spills on his tongue. In turn, Yuuri urges him to put his mouth on him. He had heard gossip of how pleasurable an activity is could be for the receiving party, and is not disappointed when Victor fucks him with his tongue to completion _twice_ , and licks at him as if he means to eat the slick out of him.

In between bouts of explorations, they play their word games or hum songs for the other. Yuuri tells the stories behind some of them, the ones his mother has taught him, and while Victor can’t understand the words, he seems to revel in just listening to Yuuri speak. He knows the opposite is true, at least, for he could probably spend an entire day with his head pressed to the pale skin of Victor’s chest, listening to his voice as he tells of whatever his heart pleases...

In the evening, as they lay together, stroking each other’s hair and letting their fingers dance over their skin, Yuuri looks up and sees a brilliant light though the smoke hatch.

The rain has long since stopped, and the winds have died down.

Curious, he sits up, trying to see it closer, even as Victor’s arms are anchored around him, trying to make him stay.

“Victor,” he prompts, touching the arm holding onto his waist to make it free him. “Come,” he says. The command must have become familiar to him by then, for Victor rises with him. He goes for the hut’s opening, but Victor calls for him to wait. His mate wraps his own, warmed furs around him, refusing to let him wander out with not a strip of cloth on.

“Thank you,” he whispers, then works on untying the flap while Victor finds furs for himself to wear. He gets the strings loose, and a gush of chilled air immediately rushes into the hut.

He shivers; it’s a bit cold outside, but the fur will keep him warm. He wraps his arms around himself and steps through the entrance. The sight that meets him has him gasping in awe.

Outside, the sky's alight with the spirit lights; bright and shining in vivid greens and whites and violets. They stretch out over the mountains, over their hut, as far as he can see, and they dance and dance until Yuuri feels quite dizzy with it.

He has seen the lights before, but never this strongly, never this much. It’s as if a rift has opened above them into the spirit realm itself, and a rush of his childish longing courses through him as he strains to see what might lay beyond the dancing lights.

Then, his breath leaves him, because for a moment he thinks he sees an elk, so very clearly, up in the lights.

It flickers, at first, and the distance makes it hard to distinguish, but something tugging at his core, at his heart, tells him it must be so.

Not too far from it stands a bear.

In his stupor, he hardly notices his mate has come out after him until Victor is behind him, slowly drawing him into his embrace.

“Victor, look,” he whispers, but there is no way Victor hasn’t seen it too, and he, too, must be feeling the same reverence, the same awe and the same _heat_ that begins to spread through him as he is pulled closer to him, his cock a hard, insistent pressure on his back.

He has hardly let a gasped “please” escape him before Victor has pushed inside, pulling Yuuri back by his hips to sheath the rest of the shaft in the tight heat of his hole, already swollen and slick from the activities of the day.

They mate together under the lights, Yuuri holding onto the rocky wall to keep upright while Victor fucks into him from behind, arms holding him against his warm chest and clutching at his body, mouthing at his neck to drown his own moans into the skin there. Just as he comes, he thinks he sees the lights above them dancing and merging until they become something entirely different—until they fade away, leaving nothing but the stars in the sky.

-

Nearly a moon later, the fall has really set in and all the leaves start turning.

Yuuri feels… different.

Not in a physical way, but mentally, and in his heart. He has become content living there, in their little abode, with Victor as his One—has come to relish in the dance they have found themselves in, of hunting together, eating and sleeping and mating and _living_ , together, just the two of them.

Victor acts a little differently, too. He has grown used to Yuuri as well, to his quirks and actions, to his moods and habits, just as Yuuri has grown used to Victor. But these are all good things, really. There is also the increasing clinginess to consider. Especially after they’ve mated, Victor seems to enjoy nuzzling against his belly and speaking to him languidly, looking up at him with such loving eyes, as if Yuuri is giving him the world.

He knows what he’s expecting. He knows it from the way he sometimes puts his hand there and looks at Yuuri, askingly. He’s gotten used to the way he still smiles encouragingly and strokes his cheek as if he is not at all disappointed when Yuuri looks away and murmurs, “I don’t know.”

It is easy to distract himself from these moments, when there is so much else for them there, so much to find and enjoy in each other. And Yuuri is fine with that, content with letting himself forget in the heat of their passionate nights or the vividness of their days spent together.

But there is change lingering in the horizon.

The nights are growing longer and colder, and just this morning they have awoken to a sheet of frost laid over their settlement. He sees it in Victor’s eyes, the consideration as he looks over their belongings, their supplies. There is no time left.

Winter is approaching.

Within the next few days, they pack up their little home, and Victor takes him far, far up the river, to the mountains and the inland. To the Bear clan.

**Author's Note:**

> That concludes this story for now!
> 
> I've fallen a little bit in love with this universe, I have to admit, so a lot of my notes did not make it into this cut. I realise that there are lots of things that I can expand on, but in the interest of time, and readers expectations, I've posted it as is. However, depending on feedback and questions, I may expand on those bits at a later time...
> 
> Thank you so much for taking your time to read this! ♡
> 
> I would be very happy if you let me know what you think. I'm available here, as well as on [tumblr](https://saltycaramel1394.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Salty_Caramel_).
> 
> Illustrations:  
> Morrindah - for Part Three [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TSiebenstein/status/964926932038144001) [Tumblr](https://somethingyoirelated.tumblr.com/post/170984125771/i-was-lucky-enough-to-work-with)


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